


The Technodrome Trap

by VasquezLives



Series: TMNT 1987 'Verse [2]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 1987), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-01-29 13:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VasquezLives/pseuds/VasquezLives
Summary: Separated from her friend in search of a story, April O'Neil and the turtles from the sewers team up in search of the home base of the Foot Clan and their leader, Oroku Saki: The Technodrome.  Meanwhile, Spike, fearing for April's life and trapped in the technological marvel with the mysterious Shredder, is forced to make a decision: join the Foot Clan willingly, or be used by it in an alien experiment.(Based on the 1987 episode, 'Enter the Shredder',  sequel to Turtles and Technodromes)
Series: TMNT 1987 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543513
Comments: 15
Kudos: 9





	1. You Can't Go Home Again

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the sequel to Turtles and Technodromes! 

It was New Years Eve, 1987, and the sun was coming up.

April O’Neil’s hands trembled as she dug in her pockets for the key to her apartment. Dehydration blurred her vision and hunger clawed at her stomach as she struggled with the key, hand reaching out to the door handle. She started with surprise as it gave way, key still clutched in her fingers as the door swung open.

For a moment, a faint hope rose in her chest, briefly lifting her spirits as she took a step inside. “Spike?” she called out hopefully.

No answer.

April locked the door behind her, taking careful steps into the dark apartment. She bit her lip with apprehension as she tread softly on the carpet, boots sinking without a sound. She turned her head, carefully glancing around the small living space. 

Everything was untouched, exactly where she’d left it the night before -  _ had it only been a night?  _ \- further increasing her sense of unease. She slid the keys in her left hand between her fingers like makeshift claws, raising them defensively. She winced as they jingled, then lunged forward, pushing open her bedroom door-

Nothing.

Light from the sunrise flooded the room, illuminating even the darkest corners. There was nowhere to hide, but even so, April took a step inside, peering around the door. She let out a relieved breath before carefully stepping back out, glancing around the small apartment. She took a step into the living room area again, eyes raking the furniture for any sign of disturbance.

She carefully stepped sideways, raising the keys as she gently pushed open the door to Spike’s bedroom, steeling herself and sidling through the doorway.

No movement. No sign of disturbance. Nothing.

_ Nothing. _

April lowered the keys, clenching her fist around them to stop her hand from trembling as she took in a shaky breath, trying to find a place to look that wouldn’t  _ hurt  _ so much.

Every corner of the room was full of memory. Spike’s weights, her boxing equipment. Her stack of vinyl records, her box of cassette tapes, all packed with music that April at best  _ tolerated,  _ at worst  _ hated,  _ especially when she played them so loud-

April tore her gaze away, roving it over the dresser, the crate full of VHS tapes. She took a step closer to the crate, almost without thinking as she bent down, absently flipping over the carefully placed copy of  _ Aliens,  _ a much-prized Christmas gift.

_ Spike looking up, fist full of wrapping paper, clutching the tape in the other hand. The hint of a surprised smile lit up her grey eyes, twisted her lips. “Thanks.” _

_ April had shrugged, grinning enough for the two of them. “You took me to see it twice, I figured you’d like it.” _

April hesitantly put the tape back down, hurriedly jolting to her feet as she shook her head, blinking rapidly to clear her head. The whole room was saturated with memories, memories that seemed to slice at her like a blade. Her chest ached, feeling horribly empty, just like this room. She suddenly realized how cold it was, wrapping her arms around herself as she forced her legs to work, to carry her out of the bedroom.

For a moment, she stood in the living room, shivering as she turned in a circle, searching to find any hiding spots she might have missed.

Her gaze lifted to the kitchen, stopping as her eyes landed on the knife embedded into the kitchen table.

A chill shot down her spine as she berated herself for having missed something so obvious.

Slowly, she approached it, squinting at the handle, gaze travelling over the knife until it landed on the paper it was stuck through.

Hesitantly, April reached out, grasping the knife. She gave it a jerk, abruptly dislodging it from the table as she staggered back, clutching it nervously. She bent forward, bleary vision trailing over the words scrawled in black ink on the page:

** _Burch Was First_ **

** _You Decide If You’re Next_ **

April collapsed onto a stool, leaning on the counter and raising her hands to her temples, eyes burning with unshed tears and exhaustion. Only now could she start to smell the sewer on her clothes and skin. Her heart beat slowed, evidently convinced by her mind that whoever had been in the apartment was long gone. The apartment was normally a warm, sight, welcoming her home after a long day’s work. Today, it looked empty, old, as though she had not been there in years. As though her trek into the sewers had taken a decade, not a night.

She swallowed dryly, stepping to the counter and yanking open a cupboard, grabbing blindly at a cup, turning to the sink to pour a glass of water. She drank it in one gulp, gasping with relief at the taste, realizing with a start that she was starving. She could really go for some pizza…

She reached for the refrigerator door and pulled it open, staring incomprensively at its contents, forcing her vision to focus on the plate of chicken on the top shelf.

_ Spike standing at the refrigerator in the middle of the night, holding a cold drumstick, refusing to meet her eye, tossing the bone into the garbage can. _

_ “I always worry ‘bout you. Your problem ‘s that ya never worry ‘bout yourself.” _

_ No. Don’t think about that. _

April shook her head, bypassing the chicken and grabbing an apple. She squeezed her eyes shut as the cold air of the fridge chilled her arms, made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The cold air stopped her from crying, kept her just a little more awake. For the first time, she understood why Spike had a hard time sleeping when April was in the middle of a story. It was deeper than fear.

It was bone-chilling, gut-wrenching dread.

She closed the refrigerator, turning to look around the apartment. Between the knowledge that the Purple Dragons had been in here, and the horrible, looming memory, the imprint of Spike’s presence, the place almost felt haunted. She shuddered. Standing here, alone, she’d never realized before how big it was, so empty. So cold.

So dead.

_ No, not that word. Don’t think about that word. _

April slowly crossed the apartment, sinking onto the couch, fingers wrapped around the apple as the lump in her throat finally rose all the way, a sob choking its way out. The tears she had been holding back for hours let loose at last, spilling down her cheeks, turning her pale face blotchy and making her nose run. The empty ache in her chest worsened, the horrible tightness refusing to loosen as the dam broke.

Had it only been less than twelve hours since she’d last been here? Less than a day since she and Spike had argued about the danger, since Spike had tried to persuade her to leave this alone?

_ “Just be careful,”  _ Spike had said.

_ “I don’t need to be. That’s your job, remember?” _

She hadn’t listened. And she wasn’t even the one paying the price.

How had she been so careless?

Physical and emotional fatigue battled for control as the apple fell, uneaten, to April’s lap. She raised her hands to her face, wiping at the wetness on her cheeks as she tried to shake herself to reality.

Spike would be alright. She was always alright, always so brave, so  _ stupidly  _ brave. She had to be alright.

The morning sun streamed through the cracks in the window curtains, stinging her eyes. Her limbs and head felt heavy, almost as though she were in a dream. She  _ wished  _ she was in a dream, wished this whole thing had been a dream. She’d give anything to stride into Channel 6 in a few hours and see Burch, really  _ see  _ him, that Spike would come home any minute now from a fight,  _ not  _ against a Purple Dragon gang-member, that none of this had happened.

The stench of the sewer on her skin told her otherwise. The coupon, the ticket into the Purple Dragon meeting place in her pocket was hard evidence that this was all too real. The existence of four mutant ninja turtles and their rat master was something so truly unbelievable that even her subconscious could not have dreamt it up. All of this, all that had happened, because of her.

All because she’d chased after a story too big for her. All because she’d wanted  _ so badly  _ to be taken seriously, to be seen as a valuable addition to the newsroom.

And now her best friend was held captive by the leader of a ninja clan from Japan. For once, it was  _ April  _ who weighed through possible outcomes as dread threatened to swallow her hope whole. Spike had no idea the danger she was in.

_ If she was still alive. _

That small, but horrible, word plagued her mind:  _ if.  _ That word represented all of the uncertainties, all the unknowns. She had no way of knowing what Oruku Saki wanted Spike alive. Or how  _ long  _ she would be alive. Or even where she was. 

She had to find her. She owed her that.

If - there was that word again - Spike was still alive, nothing on this planet would stop her from fighting to get back to April. The least April could do was not give up on her in return.

She’d return to the building the Purple Dragons had taken her to, and this time, she wouldn’t rest until she found this ‘Technodrome’, if she had to uproot New York City to do it. 

Spike’s life depended on it.

April’s eyelids slowly closed, unable to stay open any longer, no matter how hard she tried to keep them open. She had to get up, had to start her search…..

A day ago, all she wanted was a story big enough to force her co-workers to take it seriously. She had the story now, all right. 

_ But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. _

* * *

_ It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. _

For years, Spike Sanchez had been living with a simple understanding of how her life would end.

She had long been accustomed to the idea of dying young. She was to go first, that was certain. Probably violently. April would live a long life, a happy life. She’d be a successful career woman, maybe settling down as she aged, dying peacefully, of natural causes with her family. Safe from all that would end it sooner.

She wasn’t supposed to be gunned down on a rooftop by street thugs, alone.

Spike collapsed to her knees, her bloodied hands reaching out to catch her weight.  _ I was supposed to go first. _

_ I was supposed to protect you. _

The ache of her failure burned worse than the torn flesh on her cheek, ached worse than the bullet grazing her shoulder from the night before. She struggled to push herself back to her feet. Her hands slipped in the slick on the smooth metal floor. The gore on her face continued to drip, staining her jeans.

Something came down into her field of vision, and she reflexively jerked back, rearing onto her knees as her eyes focused on the hand extended before her. The palm was strong, calloused, a mirror of her own scarred hands but for the device fastened to it. On the other side of the hand, two sharp blades were also extended, dripping the same liquid that pooled on the floor under Spike’s hands.

Spike’s thin lip curled up in a snarl as she forced her leg muscles to move, shoving herself to her feet, unsteadily staggering back to lean against the wall as her chest heaved, head throbbing. Breath entered her lungs in gasps as she raised her chin, eyes blazing fiercely, meeting Oruku Saki’s gaze with her own defiant one.

Oruku Saki retracted his hand, watching her, seemingly unmindful of the red stain on his bladed gauntlet. “You need medical attention,” he said calmly, deep voice echoing off of the metallic walls. “Allow me to escort you.”

“Over my dead body,” Spike spat thickly through the pain that enveloped her jaw with every word. She lowered her hand from her face, balling it into a fist. She had no more words to utter, no way to vocalize the roaring anguish that was compressing her chest and throat so she couldn’t breathe, wrenching her stomach so badly she could barely stand. It didn’t matter what happened to her. Nothing mattered anymore. She had failed. Death seemed preferable to an empty stretch of years, her only companion the memory of a broken promise made what seemed like a lifetime ago.

She wished the Purple Dragons had killed her outright, or that she’d never let April go to that alley in the first place. That nothing in the last week had ever happened.

The Shredder took a step nearer. “You are aware that your friend may yet be alive.”

Spike raised her head numbly, eyes wide, face pale, hands shaking. “What?” she rasped hoarsely.

“You may yet have a chance to save her.”

“How? Y’heard the Dragon.”

The Shredder’s eyes hardened. “Hun would be most foolish to carry out an execution I have expressly spoken against. If you wish, my contacts can confirm whether or not any harm has come to Ms. O’Neil. My Foot soldiers can find Hun, bring him here, and force him to report to you. All I ask in return is for your assistance.”

Spike’s jaw tightened against the pain as she raised her bloodstained chin, meeting the Shredder’s gaze. She reluctantly pushed away the nagging memory of April’s terror at the name Oruku Saki, the protest at his offer.

She didn’t have to trust him. All she had to do was work with him. That was worth knowing for certain, well worth possibly saving April’s life.  _ If  _ she was still alive.

There was only a moment of silence, of deliberation before Spike raised her bloodstained chin, meeting the Shredder’s gaze, speaking clearly and evenly.

“What d’ya want me to do?”


	2. Monsters

It was noon when April jolted awake, sprawled sideways over the edge of the couch. She groaned, blinking groggily and stretching her stiff neck, sitting up straight to blearily look at her watch.

Her first thought was that she  _ never  _ slept until noon. Her second was that she was starving.

Her third was that she’d wasted nearly six hours.

April shot to her feet, mind already racing through things to do, plans to make. She reached for her purse, slinging it over her shoulder before hesitating, debating whether or not to take a shower, fighting the feeling of shame over taking a valuable ten minutes out of her search for the sake of hygiene.

By the same token, she couldn’t exactly go out smelling like a sewer. And she needed a meal, a  _ real  _ meal. And a change of clothes.

April groaned with frustration as she made her way to her bedroom, opening a drawer and grabbing hap-hazardly at a yellow blazer and a pair of jeans, mind racing a few steps ahead to try to cut down on time. Six hours, plus ten minutes to shower, five minutes to change, fifteen minutes to get something to eat, and….

She paused just outside the bathroom door, turning to stare at the telephone, sitting innocently on the kitchen counter. She silently pleaded with Spike to forgive her for the delay as she added one more item to the ‘to-do’ list:

She had to call Angel.

* * *

“Hello?”

Angel Bridge’s voice was tired, worn. The ordinarily cool, collected tone was still there, but tinged with tension.

“Angel? It’s April.”

“April.” There was a heavy sigh on the other end. “Honey, it’s been quiet all night and all morning. I haven’t heard a thing.”

“That’s okay, because I have.” April stood up, cradling the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she took her dishes to the sink, grimacing at the memory of the unappetizing meal. Spike had always been the better cook.

“What did you hear?”

April took a deep breath, leaning on the sink. “She’s alive,” she breathed.

“Alive? Are you sure?” The weariness dropped away from Angel’s voice, replaced with suspicion. “Why would they leave her alive?”

“I’m not sure yet. I spoke to her, Angel. She was alive early this morning.”

There was a pause.

“Do you know where she is?”

“I think she’s being held underground. You remember those partners of the Purple Dragons you told us about? She’s with them. But I don’t know where exactly.”

“And that’s where I come in, right, sweetheart?”

“If...if you wouldn’t mind.” April squeezed her tired eyes shut. “I can do this myself.”

“Honey, I’ll do anything for a friend of Spike’s. I’ll put the word out and listen for any noise about anywhere the Dragons’ partners might be.”

“Thank you,” April murmured. “Call Irma at Channel 6, or at the apartment if you hear anything. And Angel….I’m sorry. I know we haven’t gotten along-”

“I know. Being the one partially responsible for your roommate coming home with black eyes, bruised ribs and broken bones probably didn’t win me any favors. But April….you should know that I care about her too. She was my best fighter, but she was like a daughter.”

April’s knuckles turned white as her grip tightened around the telephone. “I know.”

“We’ll find her. Spike’s tough. She’ll hold out. Whatever they want from her, I know she’ll hold out.”

April swallowed hard as an icy cold feeling settled in her chest. She nodded as though Angel could see her.

“As long as I have known her, Spike has had a lack of self-preservation instinct that some would label bravery,” Angel said gently. “That does not mean she is stupid. You said you spoke to her, that means that  _ she  _ knows  _ you’re  _ alive. And that means that she is going to do everything possible to get back to you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” April turned her back to the sink, gazing out over the apartment. “That she’ll put my well-being over hers.”

“Honey, that’s what she’s always done. You are her priority. That might be what got her into this mess, but I have a feeling it’s also going to be what gets her out.”

There was a pause. April’s eyes landed on the clock mounted over the couch, watching the second hand creep around. “I have to go,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Stay safe, if you can.”

April almost laughed, burying a hand in her hair as she sighed. “I will.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

The  _ click  _ on the other end signified the end of the conversation. April numbly placed the telephone back on the receiver, eyes drawn to the clock again. Six hours and forty-five minutes gone. She had to get moving, and fast.

But first, she had to get some help.

* * *

The Shredder didn’t tell her what he’d wanted from her just yet.

_ “I will retrieve you when I have word from my soldiers,” he had said, turning his back on her to focus on his control board. “Until then, you will rest.” _

_ Spike wiped at her cheek with the back of her leather jacket, smearing the blood across her face. “Y’re jus’ gonna put me to bed?” _

_ Oruku Saki didn’t turn. “You are no good to me half-asleep, and half-dead with that level of blood loss. My robots will take you to the med bay to stop the bleeding, and give you a sedative. You will be awoken when we find Hun.” _

It had been six hours and forty-five minutes since Spike had been strapped onto the table, six hours and thirty minutes since the robots had cleaned her wound and bandaged her face, stitching her cheek back together with a mechanical needle. Without anaesthesia, the needle puncturing her flesh, drawing it back together had been agonizing. She’d gritted her teeth, hissing, biting back a howl as she felt her skin forcefully pulled back together.

It had hurt so much she’d barely noticed the injection that put her to sleep minutes later.

Now, she turned her head, opening her eyes as the metal bands retracted, allowing her to push herself up, wincing through the bright light, the pounding headache, the tight, cold feeling in her right cheek.

The Shredder stood by the end of the raised platform, arms folded as he watched her rise. “You are healing. Good.”

Spike grimaced, raising a calloused hand to run over her cheek. “I guess.” Her fingers pressed along two jagged lines, covered with stitches, that ran almost the length of her cheekbone. Her eyebrows drew together in a frown.

“It will scar.”

Spike jerked her head up. “Hm?”

Oruku Saki indicated her face. “The stitching is basic, intended as simply a way to prevent infection or further blood loss. It is not designed as a way to minimize cosmetic damage.”

Spike registered the words with cold indifference, numbness. She supposed that she ought to react, ought to be upset. Her fingers just kept tracing the lines, her mind blank but for the thought that April was going to be furious when she saw how she’d marked up her face.

It didn’t even occur to her to ask for a mirror.

“My Foot soldiers have found Hun.”

Spike’s eyes widened. She dropped her hand from her face, pushing herself to her feet. “S’ he said anythin’?”

The Shredder held a palm up. “All in good time. Hun is a subordinate. He is beneath us, and he must be reminded of that after his attempt at rebellion. I have him secured elsewhere, where he will wait for us. You must seem as though you are not desperate for information. In order for him to understand his place, we must be in control of the encounter. His unease will loosen his tongue.”

“I don’t give a rip ‘bout  _ control _ ,” Spike snarled. “I gotta know what happened to April. Beat it outta him if ya haveta.”

“Patience. Your suggested method is crude, and considerably less effective.” The Shredder turned on his heel. “But if you insist, we will begin to question him. I have arranged to allow you to do the inquiring.”

Spike frowned, knitting her eyebrows together. “Me?”

“Yes. It will give you a taste of the position you can expect to be granted. Besides, I believe your change in appearance may give  _ him  _ a change of heart.” 

She lifted her hand to her face again, frown deepening.

“Perhaps you would like to see for yourself.” There was the distinct sound of amusement in his tone as he crossed the room to one of the instrument-laden tables, reaching out and picking up a handheld mirror. He held it out to her. “There. Tell me what you see.”

Spike met her own eyes in the mirror, and for a moment, she barely recognized herself. 

The bloodstains had long dried, leaving the lower half of her face a red-crusted landscape. The bruising around her eye had swollen, and the signs of numerous cuts and bruises were apparent over nearly her entire face. These marks were not a surprise. Over time, they would heal.

Slowly, she allowed her gaze to drift to the unknown.

Across her right cheekbone, from just before her ear to just before her mouth, were two, jagged, ugly lines, stitched together with thick, black thread. The skin pulled tight along the diagonal gashes, still red underneath, almost echoing the sharp, hard edges of her jawline.

Perhaps it was morbid fascination that kept her eyes trained on the newly torn flesh, almost incomprehensibly staring at the marks. Her memory conjured up a familiar look, the look April always gave her when she came home from a match, battered and bloodied, a sympathetic look of shock, of disappointment.

In hindsight, the wounds seemed insignificant compared to this. She almost flinched at the thought of April’s reaction if she could see her now.

Spike raised her gaze, forcing herself to look over the mirror, to meet the Shredder’s eyes. She shrugged one shoulder, grimacing at the residual muscle ache.

“Never was much of a looker,” she muttered gruffly. She lifted her chin, jerking her head to shake the blood-encrusted hair out of her eyes.

Oruku Saki lowered the mirror, slowly, deliberately. “If you would join me, I believe Hun is ready to tell us what we want to know.”

Spike’s grey eyes hardened. “Good. Lead the way.”

* * *

Hun kneeled in the center of the large, empty room, his arms bound behind him. On either side, a Foot soldier held a shoulder, preventing him from attempting to escape. His body was turned away from the door, preventing any attempt to read his expression.

Spike’s mouth twisted as she watched him through the small window set in the metal door. “‘S there any reason y’couldn’t jus’ ask your Foot-bots what happened?”

“Unfortunately, despite the technological advancement it took to create them, they are not an artificial intelligence. They cannot speak, and as of now, there is no way to extract visuals from their memory circuits.” The Shredder stood at Spike’s shoulder, looking disinterestedly through the window. “Even if such a technology were available, the cold observation of a machine is little match for the instinct and awareness of a man. Therefore, we must get our information the traditional way.”

Shredder reached for the control panel on the side of the door. “Hun will tell us what we need to know. He knows the price of betrayal is steep, and that his life will be spared if he is useful to us. At least, for now.”

Spike’s eyes followed the Shredder’s fingers as he tapped the number keys in order:  _ 1-7-9-1.  _

The lock released with a low, metallic hiss.

“‘F he’s gonna spill his guts so easy, how come you’re sendin’ me in to rough ‘im up?”

“For a variety of reasons. It is important that he view you as possessing some authority if you are to be a contender for his territory once I return to Japan. It is also vital that I observe your capabilities. You must learn to use power to control if you want to keep hold of the city. There is no better tool for control than  _ fear. _ ”

As if she didn’t know that already.

The Shredder paused, turning his head slightly. “I will allow you twenty minutes to extract any information you can. I will be watching, should you need assistance.”

Spike watched the door slowly slide open, fixing her eyes on Hun’s broad back. She ground her jaw as she felt a spark of rage deep in her gut, boiling her blood. She jutted her chin forward, clenching her bruised, bloodied hands as she jerked her head in a curt nod, an acknowledgement. 

She stepped into the room, waiting the extra second for the door to close behind her. Her chest pounded, gut churning at the memory of the voices on the communication devices, April’s desperate pleas over Hun’s cold negotiations.

She took a step forward, intentionally loud, boot-step echoing throughout the empty chamber. 

The tattooed prisoner’s head snapped up, turning to look over his shoulder. There was no look of fear in his eyes, only expectancy. He sneered.

“‘M I so worthless that I ain’t worth Oruku himself?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Spike took another step, split lips curling back into a painful snarl. “More like I wanted to talk to ya myself.”

“Got a special interest in me or somethin’?” His dark eyes gleamed, sneer morphing into a devilish smirk.

Spike circled around towards his front, cracking her knuckles, her neck. “Y’could say that.” She leaned forward. “I wanna know what happened at the Manhattan Security Service building.”

“And what if I don’t feel like talking? You’ll beat it out of me?” Hun chortled. “You may look mean, sunshine, but y’ don’t look like a killer just yet.”

“First time for everythin’.” Spike’s hand snapped out, grabbing a fistful of Hun’s shirt collar and yanking, bringing his face close to hers. The Foot soldiers on either side released their grip on his shoulders, allowing her to support his weight. “You listen, an’ you listen good,” she snarled. “Y’held a gun to April O’Neil. I oughta beat your brains in just for that. If it were upta me, ‘t wouldn’t even be for information, jus’ for fun.”

A look of realization flashed over Hun’s features before they hardened again. “Sanchez,” he breathed. “Bridge’s fighter. Shoulda known. You and your friend have got hard heads, no sense. You don’t know when to take a dive or to leave anything alone. It ain’t wise to tangle with the Dragons, or you get the fangs.”

Before she could even think about it, she drew her arm back and cracked her knuckles across Hun’s teeth. She suppressed a hiss at stab of pain that shot up from her already-sore hand. “Ain’t wise ta tangle with me, neither,” she growled. “ _ What. Happened? _ ”

Hun grinned, blood mixed with saliva running down his lip. “It’d take a lot more than pain if I wasn’t willin’ to pay my dues, sunshine. If I talk, Shredder’s gotta keep me alive. We got a deal?” 

_ He knows the price of betrayal is steep, and that his life will be spared if he is useful to us. At least, for now.  _ The Shredder’s words echoed in her head, giving her an answer, temporary as it may be.

She dipped her head shortly. “Deal.” Her grip tightened. “Now spill.”

He shrugged a shoulder offhandedly. “O’Neil was braver than I thought she’d be. Stupid, but gutsy. I was ready to blow her brains out until your boss decided that he wanted her alive.”

Spike’s teeth clenched, jaw grinding as she pushed down the urge to beat this punk within an inch of his life, maybe farther. The thought that this slimeball had nearly been the  _ death  _ of April was enough to boil her blood. The veins in her neck throbbed as she raised her elbow, slamming it into Hun’s ribcage. He wheezed as Spike’s grip on his collar tightened, raising him higher. She leaned closer, almost spitting the words.

** _“Is she alive?”_ **

Hun’s chin lifted, his grin spreading even wider, if it were possible.

“Yeah,” he sneered. “She’s alive, all right. Her friends ambushed me an’ the Shredder’s precious Foot soldiers before I could blow her away. They ran off with her.”

Spike’s frown slipped, her grip loosening in surprise. “Friends?” Her mind raced, frantically sifting through people April knew, people who would go after her.

“Yeah. Four of ‘em. Highly trained martial artists. An’ that ain’t all.” Hun’s voice lowered as the smug expression on his face dropped. “These ninjas, they ain’t like the Foot. Ain’t even  _ human. _ ”

“Bull.” Spike’s voice was shakier than she would have liked, chest tightening as unease wound its way through her gut.

“I know what I saw. These ninjas with your friend, they ain’t human. They’re  _ monsters _ .”

Spike froze, eyes wide as the word sunk in, impossible as they were. As badly as she wanted to call him a liar, the stark ring of truth was in his every word. Her limited imagination filled in the gaps, coming up with grisly images of creatures fueled by years of horror films. Her stomach churned, throat constricting as she sucked in an unsteady breath. She tried telling herself not to believe it, but the unnerved look on Hun’s face told her otherwise. Either he was an incredibly good liar, or….

Or even after all this, April was in more danger than ever.


	3. Return to the Sewers

Muck splashed about the ankles of her rubber boots as she trudged down the sewer tunnel, flashlight playing over the walls. April squinted, trying to spot the marks that indicated where she was. Donatello’s system may have been meant only for those who dwelled in the sewers, but with all the time April seemed to be spending down there, it seemed to make sense that she learn the system too.

If she could only remember what each mark meant, she’d be in good shape.

She shivered, moving her flashlight so it illuminated the sludge before her. It took every fiber of her willpower to keep her from turning back and bolting up the nearest ladder, clambering her way back to the alley where this nightmare had all started.

The memory of Spike’s voice, muffled through static, pushed her steps onward, as much as she wanted to turn back.

She turned the flashlight on her watch, squinting at the time and blowing out a sigh. She’d been traipsing through these tunnels for an hour, and was just as hopelessly lost as when she’d entered them.

She raised her flashlight again, frowning as she caught a flicker of movement. She jumped, panning the light back, eyes lighting up. “Raphael!”

The red-masked mutant turtle grimaced, holding a scaly arm in front of his eyes. “Hey, ease off, April!”

“Sorry.” April lowered the light, stepping forward eagerly. “Raphael, I’m so glad I found you. We need to get your brothers and move! We’re losing daylight.”

Raphael squinted, lowering his arm. “Aw, April, already? We had a rough night! We’re still recovering. I’ve got bruises on top of my bruises!”

April grimaced. “I’m not feeling the best myself, but if you remember, there’s an evil ninja overlord who is holding my friend _ hostage _. You promised to help me find her, and we’ve lost too much time already.”

“Right. _ Leonardo _promised.” Raphael sighed. “I’ll take you back to the lair. Stay close.” He turned on his heel, sloshing off through the muck.

“Great. Thanks.” April waded after him, flicking the flashlight on the ground in front of him.

“I can’t promise that we leave right away,” Raphael warned. “Master Splinter’s running training this morning. I was sent out on surveillance.”  
  


April held a disapproving silence as she trudged through the slime. Raphael glanced back over his shoulder.

“Hey, no worries. We’re ninjas. Nothing can stand in our way, not even Oruku Saki.” A cocky grin spread across his beak. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

April shook her head. “You know, Raphael, I’ve come to realize that maybe, if I’d worried a little more, I might not be in this situation in the first place. Maybe it’s time I started.” She gestured. “First, let’s get to your brothers. I’ve lost enough time wandering around down here as it is.”

“Sure thing. Try to keep up.” Raphael turned and bounded off into the sewers, not once looking behind him as April burst into a run, trailing him as they wound deeper into the sewers.

* * *

The lair looked different in the daytime. Or maybe the difference was that April walked into it of her own free will.

Whichever it was, the living space seemed brighter, more cheerful. At the little table, a purple-masked turtle was tinkering with a jumble of circuitry, muttering to himself as Raphael and April stepped into the more brightly-lit living space. He looked up as the pair entered, dropping the gizmos with a clatter.

“Hi, April,” he greeted cheerfully. “Feeling better?”

“A little.” April smiled gratefully, crossing to the table to peer at his project. “What are you working on?”

“A motion sensor system for the sewers,” he answered. “All I need are a few more parts. I was hoping that the next time we run into those Foot soldiers, I could harvest some of their wiring to make it work.”

“A motion sensor system?” Raphael repeated skeptically. “So it can pick up every rat, frog or hunk of garbage that comes streaming through the sewers?”

Donatello shook his head. “Not if I design the sensors to only pick up objects of a certain mass or higher.”

Raphael shrugged. “Do we have any more cereal? I’m starved.”

“Michelangelo finished the rest of the Mr. T cereal, but there should be some Smurf Berry Crunch left.”

April’s nose wrinkled. “Do you guys eat _ anything _healthy?”

“Not if we can help it,” Raphael answered cheerfully, crossing to the cupboards over the stove. He pulled out a bowl, inspecting it. “Michelangelo and Leonardo still going at it?”

Donatello nodded. “Splinter’s trying to help Michelangelo learn _ patience. _ Boy has he got his work cut out for him!”

“Really?” April pulled out a chair opposite Donatello at the round table, sliding into it.

“Oh yeah.” Raphael dropped his bowl onto the table with a _ thunk, _tossing a spoon alongside it. “Michelangelo needs to learn to keep his cool, like the rest of us,” he added sardonically. He winked before turning back to the cupboards, taking out a bright, colorful box of sugar-laden cereal.

“So, why are you down here so soon again, April?” Donatello asked curiously.

“Can’t you tell? She can’t get enough of us!” Raphael sat down, pouring his bowl full of a combination of milk and cereal.

April rolled her eyes before turning her attention fully to Donatello. “Don’t you remember the base that was under the skyscraper last night? That big Technodrome thingamajig! We’ve got to check it out. That’s where The Shredder is keeping Spike.”

Donatello nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. As soon as the training is over, we’ll follow the sewers to find the spot underneath the building the Foot flooded last night.”

“The sewers? Heck, can’t we just go the same way we did yesterday?” Raphael swallowed a mouthful of food, gesturing with his spoon. “After all, there’s no way the building is still full of water, right?”

“Actually, I’m positive that it’s collapsed by now.” Donatello reminded him. “The weight would have been too much for the supports. It would have crumbled! I’ve got a hunch that the Shredder’s base must have been _ underneath _the building, not inside it. And what’s beneath the building?”

“The sewers,” April realized. “You think their base would be down here as well?”

Donatello shrugged. “By my calculations, the odds are pretty good. That’s one reason I want this motion sensor idea to work.”

“One reason?”

Donatello grinned. “It’d be helpful to know when you are coming, as well. That is, if you intend to visit us more often.”

April gave a half-hearted smile. “I hope so.”

A commotion in the opposite doorway drew the attention of both turtles and April as Leonardo and Michelangelo marched into the kitchen, weapons drawn.

“How’d it go?” Donatello asked conversationally.

“Leonardo beat me again.” Michelangelo sat down and set his nunchucks on the table before waving. “Oh, hi, April! What are you doing down here?”

“She’s down here looking for that Technodrome.” Raphael slurped down the rest of his cereal, setting his bowl down with a _ thunk. _

Leonardo nodded at April in greeting, sheathing his katana blades. “We have not forgotten our promise to help you.” He turned to his brothers. “Are you ready?”

Donatello dropped his circuits, drawing his bo staff. “Certainly.”

“Ready when you are, Leonardo,” Raphael drawled.

Michelangelo sprang to his feet again, apparently rested enough for the time being. “Another adventure? C’mon guys, what’re we waiting for? Let’s go!”

April stood up as well, pushing her chair back. “I’m way ahead of you. Come on, guys. We don’t have time to lose!”

* * *

“What do you mean, _ monsters? _”

Spike’s voice shook slightly, her panic almost swallowed by boiling rage. The vein in her neck throbbed. She stared Hun down, eyes wide, hands shaking where they bunched in his collar.

“I mean monsters. Green skinned, scaly, like lizards. But they stood up. They had weapons.” Hun jerked his head towards the door. “Weapons like the Shredder’s got. Swords and sticks. And they know how to use ‘em, too.”

Spike barely glanced away as the door on the other end of the room slid open. The Shredder stalked towards them, his voice like thunder.

“Be mindful of your words, Hun. We do not have the feeble minds of your associates. Fairy-tales may frighten the Purple Dragon scum, but they will not work on me.”

Hun started, trying to spot the Shredder out of the corner of his eye. “You gotta believe me, I’m dead serious. They were ninjas. Mutant turtle ninjas.”

The Shredder took a step closer, the blades mounted on his claws gleaming underneath the bright light. “_ Mutants? _”

“That’s what I said.” Hun craned his neck as the Shredder circled him, coming to stand behind Spike. “They broke my communicator and took O’Neil.”

Spike bared her teeth. “You rotten-”

“He tells the truth. Release him.”

Spike’s eyes flashed, her grip loosening enough for Hun to fall back, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Shredder? What, you believe ‘im?”

Oruku Saki was already moving, cape billowing behind him as he strode towards the door. “There is much you do not understand,” he barked. “Come with me.”

Spike followed at a lope, jaw grinding with frustration, with confusion. Anger and fear tore at her, making her gut lurch, her chest constrict. The door to the interrogation room closed just behind her booted heels as she threw her arm out, teeth bared.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘till you explain what I don’t understand,” she growled. “An’ how you can believe this scum-suckin’ liar.”

“Hun is not lying.” Shredder turned slightly, eyebrows thick and heavy. His eyes darkened as he looked at Spike. “There is more to our reality than you can possibly imagine. You have witnessed them before. Robotic life forms. Undead spirits. And yet there is more that you cannot understand. Not yet, anyway.”

“Then make me understand.” Spike stepped forward, face flushed a deep crimson as her throat tightened. “What n’ blazes are you talkin’ about?”

“The Purple Dragons are not my only allies.” The Shredder turned, beckoning for her to follow as he strode down the long, white hallway. “There is another benefactor I am in contact with. They possess a technical and scientific expertise beyond those of our world.”

A realization slowly began to dawn in Spike’s mind as she pieced together everything she’d seen.   
  


“They gave you the robots.”

“They provided me with the technology necessary to create them, yes. This very structure is an example of their workmanship, a mobile fortress capable of holding hundreds, fitted with defenses, capable of drilling underground.” Shredder gestured grandly at the walls around them.

Spike started. “This thing ‘s movin’?”

“Indeed. The Technodrome is difficult to track, and even more difficult to invade.” He continued down the hallway, on a path that seemed vaguely familiar, inasmuch as any of these featureless corridors could. “But this was not their greatest gift.”

The Shredder turned, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “There is a chemical. A highly unusual substance that has the ability to transform any organism’s cellular structure, mutating it into a different form. Any creature that comes into contact with it transforms into a mutated being, affected by whatever DNA it has last come into contact with. This can turn men into sludge, animals into sentient beings….” He clenched his fists at his sides. “At first, I did not understand its properties. Only recently did my benefactor reveal to me it’s true nature, but not before I had attempted to use it, many years ago, in these very sewers.”

Spike’s bushy eyebrows drew together as her eyes narrowed, her mind working through the Shredder’s story, his very purpose for being in New York in the first place. “I thought you jus’ came t’ New York recently.”

The Shredder’s steps faltered briefly. “Not entirely. I have been here once before. When I first banished Hamato Yoshi, I and my followers followed him here. He fled into the sewers. We pursued.”

Spike’s lips twisted wryly. “So y’tried to murder ‘im.”

“Murder? Ms. Sanchez, if ridding the world of a warmonger who was a danger to the Foot clan’s society is murder, than I am indeed guilty. Hamato Yoshi is far more dangerous than he seems.”

“Since y’re still lookin’ for ‘im, I’m gonna guess it didn’t work.”

“We never found the body. Still, I had no intention of returning to finish the job until the recent information about the chemical came to light.” The Shredder turned a corner, heading down the hallway that Spike recognized as leading to the control room. “The knowledge that Hamato Yoshi may, in fact, be alive, perhaps mutated beyond recognition. A monster, if you will.”

“So, y’think these turtles…..”

“May be connected to Hamato Yoshi. If they are, they are as dangerous as he is, and must be dealt with.”

Spike halted, eyes narrowing further still. “An’ y’think if we find these things, we’ll find April.”

“It’s very possible.” The Shredder paused as well, turning towards her. “I must confer with my partner to determine a course of action. I will call you when I need you.”

“Need me? For what?” Spike threw her arms out to the side, gesturing at the walls. “What, I just wander around until y’ need me ta beat up another Purple Dragon?”

“Certainly not, Ms. Sanchez. I expect you to familiarize yourself with the interior of the Technodrome until I need you to go hunting.” The Shredder pressed at the keypad, watching the door slide open. “Prepare yourself to go to war, _ lieutenant. _That is, if you have any intention of finding your friend.” The Shredder stepped through the doorway, allowing it to slide shut behind him with a hiss.

Spike stood alone in the chrome hallway, fists clenched at her sides, frustration charging her limbs with energy. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing her forehead to uncrease, wishing and hoping, more than anything, that April truly was safe.

Spike pressed her burning forehead against the cool metal of the hallway, slamming her fist into the wall beside her head.

_ I was supposed to protect you. _

She opened her eyes slowly, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the wall. She raised her square, bloodstained chin and ground her teeth. If killing monsters is what it took to get April back...

Then that’s what she’d do.

The Shredder was right about one thing. It was time to prepare for war.


	4. Search in the Sewers

“So, Red, once we find this Technodrome thing, what’s your plan?” Raphael’s voice rang out from the front of the procession as April and the turtles trudged through the sewers.

April frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Say we find this thing, whatever it is. Then what? You think the four of us are going to be enough to take down the Shredder’s forces to get your friend out of here, _ if _she’s still alive?”

“She _ is _still alive,” April said fiercely. “Once we find this base, we’ll find a way in, and sneak inside. From there, we’ll find where she’s being held. There has to be a cell block or something. We’ll break in, grab her, and break out before the Shredder knows what hit him.”

“This is all well and good, April, but supposing he _ does _know what hits him. As Donatello has said, the Shredder has many tricks that we are not accustomed to dealing with. He does not simply come at us with his fists. He is cunning, resourceful. No doubt he will be ready for an attack.” Leonardo’s steady tones echoed off of the sewer walls. “We may be faced with a fight that we are not prepared to win. We will have to assess the situation before coming up with a strategy.” He glanced at April. “Rest assured, we will not let your friend remain in the jaws of the enemy.”

“Yeah. We’ll rescue her, just like in _ Star Wars, _” Michelangelo agreed. “Did you ever see that movie?”

April nodded distractedly. “Spike’s not the damsel type. She’s probably trying to get out herself.”

“I don’t know about that.” Donatello glanced up from the map grasped between his reptilian fingers. “From what you said about what you heard on the roof, your friend doesn’t know the danger she’s in. It’s logical to assume, from what we know of this Shredder, that he’s smart enough to convince her that he’s the good guy here. She might believe him.”

April shook her head. “You don’t know her. She doesn’t trust anybody. Nobody but me.”

“That might be the key,” Leonardo said quietly. “If she believes _ you _to be in danger, perhaps desperation has driven her into trusting the wrong side.”

April froze in her tracks, fists at her sides. “I can’t believe that.”

The turtles stopped, turning around to look at her. Donatello took a hesitant step towards her. “April-”

“You’re wrong.”

She had no way to explain it, no way to simplify twenty five years of friendship. There was no method to make them feel her gut instinct, to fly in the face of their reason by explaining that Spike _ wasn’t _reasonable. She had an insane lack of self-preservation instinct that could be confused with ‘bravery’. She was unable to be manipulated, to have her mind changed. The very idea that she would be tricked was impossible.

But when she opened her mouth to try to boil her flurry of incredulous, angry thoughts down, all that came out was:

“Let’s just keep going.”

“Agreed. The sooner we find your friend, no matter the circumstance, the better,” Leonardo agreed. “And then you will hold up your end of the bargain.”

April lifted her chin. “Yeah. One step at a time, okay?” She stuffed her hands in her coat pockets, shivering at the chill in the sewers. “Remember, I still need a story out of all of this.”

“Without mentioning us,” Michelangelo added.

“C’mon guys, what are you, swimming in cement? Let’s pick up the pace here!” Raphael cried. “Let’s go!”

* * *

The trudge through the sewers took less time than it would have had they been above ground, but it still felt like hours. April struggled to resist the nagging urge to check her watch in the cracks of light from the surface above as the drag of time seemed to press in on her, almost suffocating her. Her thoughts were loud, screaming echoes of the words Leonardo had spoken battling with decades of experience. He was wrong. He had to be.

Shaking her head, she raised her voice. “How much further?”

Donatello glanced up from his map, frowning with confusion.

“Actually, we’re right on top of it. According to the map of the city you brought, we’re right underneath the building.” He turned slightly, pointing to the slightly crumpled ceiling. “See, there’s the foundation coming through, where the building collapsed above. But there’s nothing here.”

“Nothing?” April repeated.

“That’s impossible,” Raphael exclaimed, coming to his brother’s side. “Let me see.”

“I’m serious! There’s nothing here!” He gestured at the cavernous interior of the sewers and the river of sewage. “See? Totally empty. Where could a vast, subterranean compound go down here?”

“Maybe it can teleport,” Michelangelo suggested. “Like that machine the guy was building in _ The Fly _ ! Or _ Star Trek _!”

“No, that’s just a little too unbelievable.”

“More unbelievable than talking mutant turtles?” April asked skeptically.

Donatello grinned sheepishly. “You have a point. But still, this technology, even with what we’ve seen from the Shredder so far, it just doesn’t exist! Not even prototypes! It’s impossible.”

“I don’t think it was a teleportation device,” Leonardo called. “Come look at this.” He gestured at a side tunnel, splitting off from the main sewer system. “What do you think, Donatello?”

April peered at the tunnel, frowning. “So, it’s got dirt instead of stone for walls. What is it?”

“We know these tunnels like we know the backs of our shells, and as of last time I checked, this tunnel didn’t exist,” Donatello said. 

“Look!” Michelangelo pointed at the floor of the yawning, cavernous tunnel. “Tread marks!”

“Looks like a tank came through here,” Raphael observed. “What do you think, Leonardo?”

_ What a story! _

The thought came to April’s mind unbidden, almost instinctive as she stared at the marks on the tunnel floor. For an instant, she could see Burne Thompson behind his desk, looking pleased with her for the first time in her career. She could see Vern Fenwick, green with envy as she finally got the major news slot for Channel 6. She’d be respected. Irma would be so proud. 

And Spike…..

April lifted her chin. “Come on. We’ve gotta follow it.” She took a step forward, intently starting towards the new tunnel.

Leonardo reached towards her, grasping at her upper-arm and tugging her back. “Wait. We must tell Master Splinter about this.”

April frowned, turning on her heel. “What?”

“He’s right. This is unprecedented,” Donatello agreed. “My guess is, that’s the trail of the Technodrome, and if it is, we need a plan. Now that we know that we’ll be able to track it easily, we need a plan.”

“We’re wasting time!” There was a large part of April that wanted to stamp her foot, as immature as it was. “Don’t you get that?”

“Yes, I do.” Leonardo released her arm. “But charging into this without knowing how far ahead of us it is, or how to get in, isn’t going to help your friend. We could waste hours or longer following it.”

“So what do we do?” Michelangelo asked.

Leonardo rubbed at his chin. “We’ll go back to the lair to tell Master Splinter and seek his guidance about what to do next.”

“Great. What do _ I _ do?”

Donatello turned towards April. “_ You _ can go to the surface and find out if there’s been any strange tremors, and where they’d be coming from. That can help us narrow down a location, and maybe figure out a trajectory if it’s still moving. We’ll meet you up there.”

April crossed her arms. “Oh, no you don’t. If you guys come up to the surface by yourselves, who knows what danger you’d be in! Someone could see you!”

“Relax, April,” Raphael drawled. “We still got those disguises you got us. We’ll lay low. Besides, it’d be quicker than waiting for you to try to find your way through the sewers alone again.”

They had a point. 

April bit her lip. “Fine. Meet me outside the Channel 6 newbuilding, in the alleyway. Try not to draw attention to yourselves!”

“Don’t worry,” Michelangelo said reassuringly. “We’re ninja. Stealth is our middle name!”

April grimaced. “I sure hope so.”

“Well, then,” Raphael said, glancing around at the group. “What are we waiting for? Let’s split up, gang!”

* * *

She couldn’t think. Her head was heavy from lack of sleep, food, and water. She couldn’t even tell how many days it’d been since she and April had first been chased into the sewers. Her body was running on fumes.

But she could push herself a little while longer.

Spike stood at the door to the armory, watching with bleary vision as the door slid open, just as it had before. She stepped through, almost staggering into the room, craning her neck to glance around the respectable array of weapons. Again, she found her gaze drawn to the heavy kanabō weapon. She stepped towards it, blinking against the bright light, reflecting off of the many blades in the room, wrapping her hands around the thick handle. She took a deep breath, hauling it out of its resting place.

The weight of the weapon barely swayed her as she held it up in front of her. The smooth handle felt natural in her hands. She twisted the weapon slowly, watching the spikes on the end rotate with it. She dropped her elbows, allowing the weapon to rest in front of her, comfortably. The strain in her arms and her grip was almost comforting.

She took a step to her right, swinging the kanabō like a baseball bat, a wild exhilaration flooding her veins, melting the exhaustion away for a brief moment. Her thin lips stretched back over her teeth as she moved, swinging again in an upward motion.

Her eyes drifted shut, burning as they closed, and she moved again.

Gradually, she put more force into her swings, more effort into ducking, dodging, twisting away, trading blows with an imaginary opponent. Her breath came faster, sweat beading her forehead as the cool metal in her hands warmed and grew slick.

It felt good.

Torn between a grimace from exertion and a grin of exhilaration, Spike's eyebrows knitted together as her muscles bulged with effort, a comforting feeling among all of the strangeness. She ducked under the swing of an imaginary katana blade, bringing her heavy weapon down. In her mind's eye, the blades of her faceless opponent shattered, sharp metal splintering the chrome floor.

_ Monsters.... _

Hun's words hammered away at her concentration, slowly morphing her opponent in her mind into a scaly, shelled creature with powerful, strong jaws-

Her eyes snapped open, wide as a gasp stole the air out of her lungs. The kanabō faltered in it's swing, the weight pulling her weakening frame off-balance. She crashed to her knees, chest heaving. For a moment, she thought she could feel the Technodrome's movements under her, until she realized she was shaking uncontrollably.

_ They…took O’Neil… _

The kanabō clattered to the ground before her as her arms dropped to support her weight, her stomach and chest constricting terribly. Nausea made the room swim before her eyes, turned her blood to ice as she gulped in air, trying to clear her head. She swallowed hard, trying to unstick her dry tongue from the roof of her mouth, inwardly cursing her weakness.

There was no point in going over the mistakes she might have made, alternate courses that might have ended better. All that mattered now was getting out, finding April. Trying to save her.

_ I was supposed to protect you!  _

The thought was an agonized scream now, pounding through her aching head. She had to get up, try to do  _ something,  _ anything but just collapse-

Her arms gave out beneath her, her scarred cheek colliding with the cold metallic floor. The stitched-together flesh burned with the contact, a stabbing pain that swallowed up her other senses as she fought to tamp it down. Her eyes closed again, too heavy to open again. Visions of April, lost in the dark, alone, cluttered her limited imagination. A terrible combination of fear and exhaustion drug her limbs down, hammered at her head. Her temples throbbed as she reached her hand out blindly, calloused palm grasping the pommel of the kanabō, white-knuckled grip forcing a little life back into her arms.

She was no good to April like this.

Spike gritted her teeth at the thought, forcing her muscles to  _ move. _ Slowly, achingly, she opened her eyes, pushing herself back to her hands and knees, dragging the kanabō underneath her. Her palm slid against the floor, smearing sweat on the silver metal. Her empty stomach churned as she forced herself to one knee, turning the kanabō on end. She grasped it with both hands, leaning heavily on it as she sucked in a lungful of cold, sterile air.

She couldn’t afford weakness. Not now. April was counting on her.

She heard the hiss of the doors as they parted. Spike craned her neck slowly, grime-crusted fringe of hair hanging in her eyes. Her gaze focused on the familiar pair of silver boots, motionless in the doorway.

“Well?” she rasped. The word scraped at her dry throat, tore at her dehydrated tongue.

“I have discussed the recent developments with my partner, and have decided upon a course of action. In order to combat these monsters, we must create more powerful mutants of our own.”

Spike jerked her head up, focusing suspiciously on the masked face of Oruku Saki.

The Shredder raised his gauntlet, letting the light reflect meaningfully off of his blades. “I would advise you to follow me. I may have use of you.”

Spike leaned on the handle of the kanabō, pushing off of it to rise to her feet. “When y’get these better mutants, what’re y’gonna do with ‘em?” she croaked.

“Once we obtain these superior warriors, we shall hunt down the monsters that have taken Ms. O’Neil, and we shall destroy them, and Hamato Yoshi with one swift stroke.” He turned, cape billowing behind him. “Come. There is much to do.”


	5. A Step Closer

The Shredder sat upon his silver throne, fingers steepled in front of him as he studied the monitor mounted over the control panel. On screen, the dirt walls of the newly-dug tunnel passed by as the Technodrome trundled along underneath New York City.

At the foot of the dais, Spike watched as Foot robots carried a low wooden table into the spacious, round, shining room, setting it down at the base of the throne. Other robots entered the room, bearing dishes full of something that smelled suspiciously like food. Spike's empty stomach panged painfully. She grimaced, leaning slightly on the kanabō handle as she planted it on the floor beside her.

The Shredder rose from his throne and proceeded towards the control panel, reaching his hand out and touching a few keys. The shaky camera feed on the screen flickered, then changed, replaced with a map of New York City.

The Shredder slowly turned away from the map, striding purposefully towards the table. He nodded at Spike. "Come, sit. You must regain your strength, if you wish to engage in battle."

Spike hesitantly stepped towards the table, torn between hunger and caution. "What is it?"

"Food. Sit." The Shredder gestured impatiently. "There is much to plan."

Spike crouched down, setting the heavy kanabō down in front of her as she reached towards a bowl of soup, not even thinking about a spoon before bringing it to her mouth, gulping the broth down, ignoring the sting of her cracked lips. The flavor barely hit her tongue before it was down her throat, warming her belly.

It was only after the bowl had been emptied that Spike realized that she hadn't taken a breath since she'd picked it up. She lowered the bowl to the table, already reaching for another dish full of rice with an unidentifiable substance atop it.

With something in her stomach, slightly soothing the ache, Spike raised her head, watching the Shredder as he sat down across from her at the table. He reached up, unfastening his helmet and sliding it off of his head, impassively watching Spike's face.

"You have lived in New York City your entire life, Ms. Sanchez."

Spike jerked her head in a nod, leaning back slightly from the low table. "Yeh."

"I need animal specimens in order to create mutants." The Shredder leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "Where in New York City can I obtain the DNA of animals? Think carefully. These animals must not be simple house pets. They must be _killers._ Brutes."

_Killers_.

Spike's eyes narrowed, sliding her gaze away from the Shredder's face to rake the table, searching for utensils as she cupped the bowl in her left hand.

"Killers," she repeated dully, heavy eyebrows pulling together.

"In order to effectively fight Hamato Yoshi's mutants, we must find animals that are more than a match for them. The more dangerous, the more successful our attack." The Shredder's hand appeared in her line of vision, clasping two wooden sticks between his fingers. "And the more quickly your friend is restored to safety. But of course, you already know that."

Spike gingerly took the chopsticks, rolling them between her calloused fingers as she raised her gaze, meeting the Shredder's. "'F these animals 're so dangerous, how're y' gonna keep 'em from hurtin' April durin' this mission?"

The Shredder spread his hands. "For the mutation process, I needn't mutate the animals themselves. To do so would only create mindless beasts, creatures that would have to be trained. With no time to raise allies from the ground up, I must...adapt the allies that I have at my disposal. The animal DNA will be mixed with the transformation chemical itself, and applied to the volunteer of my choice."

The chopsticks dropped from Spike's fingers. "Victims, y'mean."

"The Purple Dragons have never been victims to anything but their own stupidity and carelessness." The Shredder's voice had only a slight edge to it, but his dark eyes burned with intensity. "With thinking beings as our army, I will be able to order them to harm only the other mutants. Your friend will be quite safe, and the creatures that would do her harm will be destroyed."

Human victims.

Spike absently dug into the bowl in her hand with her fingers, scooping a clump of rice to her mouth, chasing it down with the unidentifiable, slightly chewy meat that she was fairly certain was eel. The motion pulled at the clumsy, black stitches that held the torn skin across her cheek together. She barely felt it. The implications of the Shredder's words sank in, almost as distasteful as the meat.

He planned to turn men into the kinds of monsters that had captured April.

_They're just Purple Dragons_. Spike's eyes hardened as her chapped lips pressed into a thin line, her eyebrows lowering further. What had the Purple Dragons ever done but cause pain?

It was the Purple Dragons that had murdered Morgan Burch. It was the Purple Dragons that had killed Jeremy Dallas and chased Spike and April into the sewers. It was Purple Dragons, _Hun, _who had nearly shot April on the rooftop.

Then again, it was the Shredder who had put them up to it. All of it.

Spike swallowed another mouthful of rice, chewing slowly. The Purple Dragons would be punished, here, now, ordered to save the person they had tried to destroy. Once April had been rescued, they could decide how to deal with the Shredder. They could take control of his empire from him, ensure that April would never be in danger again-

April's face materialized in Spike's thoughts, features bent in a disapproving frown.

Spike paused, clutching the bowl in her scarred hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, dropping the bowl to press the heels of her hands to her eyes, trying to rub the image away.

What would April say if she found out that Spike had helped turn human beings, even street thugs, into monsters?

_I have no choice,_ she argued with the unrelenting manifestation. _I have to save you. At any cost._

_ **I promised.** _

Spike's hands clenched into fists as she lowered them from her eyes. _I promised__**.**_

She could live with herself if she did this. Of that, she had no doubt. Justice, _vengeance _demanded that the Purple Dragons pay.

Spike opened her eyes slowly, looking up and meeting the Shredder's steady gaze. He hadn't looked away, just waited, unnervingly quiet.

"What would happen t' them after?"

"They would remain under my control. True, they would be outcasts of society, but all wars have casualties. What does it matter? Hamato Yoshi and his mutants will be crushed, and your friend will be safe. Should you prove yourself to me, in time, I may grant you mutants of your own to use, if you wish."

Spike dipped her hand back into the bowl, but didn't take anything, sitting with her broad shoulders hunched in on herself.

Again, the image of April's disappointed expression appeared behind her eyelids. Spike grimaced, shaking her head as though it would dislodge the apparition. Abruptly, the image changed, transitioning into the turtle-monster that Spike's imagination had created. She sucked in a breath, gaze falling to the weapon before her.

"I will, of course, find specimens without your assistance," the Shredder added mildly. "However, your contribution will aid the process considerably. Those who do not aid me are often considered _hindrances_."

Spike raised her head at the thinly veiled threat, jutting her square jaw out as she glowered at Oruku Saki. Her fingers itched to wrap around the handle of the kanabō, to pick it up and bash her way out of this mechanical prison.

For it _was _a prison.

She wasn't stupid.

No matter what Shredder promised her, she was being used. A tool, a weapon, that he intended to utilize until she could no longer 'aid' him, to be destroyed, discarded. All the promises, the power he offered her may have been genuine enough, but she would always be answerable to him.

_But April would be safe._

Protecting her had never been this hard before. There was nothing to hit, no way to brute-force her way out. She had to play her cards right,to keep the Shredder pleased with her so that the rescue mission would go off without a hitch.

She twisted around to peer over her shoulder at the screen, the map of New York City that this mechanical cage was burrowing under. The overwhelming pressure of the tendrils of fear crushed her chest in, making it hard to breathe.

If she proved a hindrance now, April's life could be at risk. If the Shredder suspected her intentions, she would be destroyed. Without her needing a bribe, April would follow.

She had no choice.

Finally, Spike turned back, grabbing a clump of rice. "Central Park," she rumbled in a rush, as though saying it was akin to ripping a bandaid off. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she clamped her jaw shut, gritting her teeth, reeling as though she'd been struck. Her features froze into a pained grimace as she internally cursed herself, cursed the Shredder, cursed the Purple Dragons.

The Shredder watched her before nodding. "The Central Park Zoo it is," he said coolly. "You must learn to think more quickly, Ms. Sanchez, if you wish to prove yourself an asset." He reached for his helmet, raising it to pull over his head as he rose to his feet, striding past her to head for the control panel. "I have already chosen the animals I need. I was considering sending you on the mission to collect the samples, but I believe I prefer you where I can see you at the moment. However, I have no doubt you will approve of the team I _am _sending." He depressed a button on the console, leaning forward to speak into the communications panel. "Bebop, Rocksteady, report to the control room immediately. Foot bots, take Hun from his cell and bring him to me. I have plans for him, too."

Spike remained hunched over the small wooden table, the metal floor underneath her as cold as ice as her large, calloused hands wrapped around the grip of the weapon at her feet. Her grey eyes squeezed shut, trying to blot out the too-bright, too-white lights.

She might be able to live with her decision.

She only hoped April would be able to live with it too.

* * *

April craned her neck, squinting through the falling snow up at the Channel 6 building with some trepidation. It had been three days since she'd last been here, three days since things had last been normal. Three days since the eerie silence had been left in the wake of Burch's murder.

April pushed open the double glass doors, struck with a sense of deja-vu as she stood in the lobby.

If she thought it had been quiet before, it was practically a graveyard now.

The fountain splashing was the only sound to be heard throughout the spacious foyer. The water cooler stood abandoned, a lone cameraman leaning on the reception desk with his back to April. Behind the desk, Irma Langinstein silently dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, clumps of used and discarded tissues cluttering the wooden surface around her.

The place was deserted. A ghost building. A shudder ran down April's spine, and not just from the brisk December cold.

She took a few steps into the lobby, shaking the snowflakes off of her shoulders and hair, nervously glancing around the room as a sense of dread settled into her bones. "What's going on in here?" she burst out, putting her hands on her hips. Her bravado chased away the shadows of foreboding for just a moment, just enough to break the awful, heavy silence.

The moment was enough.

Irma jerked her head up, turning deadly white as her bespectacled gaze landed on April. The cameraman at the desk whirled around, clutching the wooden edge with white-knuckled hands as his mouth opened in a terrified gape. Vern Fenwick gulped, visibly shaking as April took another step towards the pair, eyes narrowing on the cameraman.

"_You!_"

"Me?" Vern squeaked.

The vision was as clear as day: the Purple Dragons advancing down the alley, the sound of a gunshot splitting the night as Jeremy Dallas's body hit the street. The roar of the Channel 6 news van as Vern tore out of the alley, alone, leaving them to the tender mercies of the Purple Dragons.

April's manicured hands balled into fists as a stab of good, old-fashioned anger ripped through her, heating her blood up faster than a furnace could have.

"W-w-we…" Vern stammered, pointing a trembling finger at her. "Y-y-you..."

"We thought you were _dead!_" Irma cried, shooting to her feet. She raised her handkerchief to her face as a fresh stream of tears ran down her cheeks.

"Who told you that? _Him?!_" April thrust her finger in Vern's face, leaning up to glower into his frozen features. "Your yellow streak nearly got us _killed! _Do you have _any _idea what I've been through?!"

Irma froze, still blubbering. "What?"

"The Purple Dragons came after me - came after _us,_" April cried, waving her arms for emphasis. "Vern here took the first opportunity to save his own skin and left us for dead!"

"Reflex," Vern spluttered. "It was reflex-"

"We could have been _killed!_" April shouted. "If Spike and I hadn't hidden-"

"Spike?" Irma's eyes widened as she raised a tissue to her nose, blowing loudly. "You brought her with you? Is she alright?"

April stopped, wavering. For a moment, that word _If _loomed large in front of her, and she could see the basement flood-

"_They're gone!" _Leonardo's voice rang in her ears, and she could hear her own, an unsteady echo:

"_Gone?! No, they can't be..."_

_ **So close.** _

April closed her eyes, opening them again slowly. "No," she choked. She paused, clearing her throat, voice steadying somewhat. "She's not. She's in a lot of trouble. And I need to get her out of it."

Irma clapped both hands over her mouth, a horrified look spreading across her face.

April glanced at her watch. "I don't have much time. Vern, tell Burne that I'm back. Tell him that this story is bigger than either of us thought, and that I've got something for him."

Vern and Irma exchanged a look. The cameraman cleared his throat. "Um, April?"

"_Now_, Vern!" April barked. "Or I'll tell him that your cowardice put us in _mortal danger, _do you understand me?"

Vern went scarlet and pushed off from the desk, hastily retreating towards the heavy wooden door that led to Burne Thompson's office.

April checked her watch again. "Irma, I need your help with something."

Irma nodded, twisting her handkerchief in her hands before letting out a high-pitched cry, leaning over the desk and flinging her arms around April's shoulders. "Oh April, I was so worried! After you told me what you were doing - investigating the Purple Dragons! - and then Vern came back alone! I was convinced you'd been _murdered!_ I'm so glad you're safe!"

April returned the hug with relief, realizing with a start how much she'd _missed _human contact. "That makes two of us. But we're not out of it yet. Listen, Irma, I need you to focus, okay? Focus?" She pulled back from the hug, holding Irma's shoulders and looking the dishevelled receptionist in the eye.

Irma nodded, ponytail bouncing. "Focused. What do you need, April?"

"I need to find out if there have been any hints of underground movement, in the last twenty-four hours. Look for tremors, or new tunnels in the sewers, anything underground that shouldn't be happening."

Irma cocked her head, blinking. She sniffled. "What?"

April lowered her voice, glancing around the empty lobby as she lowered her hands from Irma's shoulders. "Spike was taken by the Purple Dragons," she murmured. "They brought her to a mobile underground base. I was on it's trail, but I lost it last night. I need to find it, as quickly as possible. Spike's life...could depend on it."

Irma bit her lower lip. "You're still in trouble, aren't you? The Dragons...they're still looking for you, aren't they?"

April dug her hand into her pocket, clenching around the note that the Purple Dragons had stabbed to her kitchen counter. Her blood, which had run so burning hot moments ago, slowly turned cold in her veins as she swallowed hard. "Just find out for me, okay?"

Irma hesitated, frowning. "April…"

"I promise, as soon as I can, I will explain _everything,_ but I have to move fast." April spun, heading for Thompson's office. "I'll be right back," she called over her shoulder. "But I need those locations!"

"But-"

April was already through the doorway, slamming the door behind her as she took in the sight of Burne Thompson, rigid in his chair, staring up at her from behind his desk in shock.

"O'Neil!?"

"I told you, sir!" Vern sidled around the edge of the massive desk, shrinking back to stand at the editor's right hand. "She's alive!"

"O'Neil, I thought you'd bit it for sure!" Thompson bellowed, raising his girthy frame to his feet and slamming his meaty hands on the desk. The cup of coffee perched on the corner of his desk wobbled dangerously. "What in blazes do you think you're doing? Running around, not answering the phone, turning up after we've all thought you've ended up on the wrong side of the grass?!"

As harrowing as the last few days had been, as little patience for Burne's bluster as she had right now, there was a part of April that was heartily relieved to see him back to his normal, cantankerous state.

"I almost _did_."

"What happened?" Burne demanded.

April shook her head. "That's not important right now. Burne, I need to talk to you about that story you put me on. Burch's story."

Burne shifted uncomfortably, easing himself back down to sit. "Funny thing about that…" He chuckled uneasily. "Y'know, April, the newsroom is a busy place-"

A hint of suspicion niggled at the back of April's mind as she paused, mind working to piece together his discomfort, Vern's guilty looks, Irma's hesitation. "I know that, Burne. I'm not an amateur, remember?"

Burne didn't meet her eyes. "We thought-"

"You'd been gone for _three _days, April," Vern cut in. "You're off the story. I took it."

April turned on him incredulously. "_You_?! " She threw her hands in the air. "You _scooped _me?! You had the _nerve _to desert me, and _then _take my story? Why don't you just hop into my grave while you're at it?!"

"Now, hold it, O'Neil," Burne barked. "I put Fenwick on that story. There was another technology heist while you were gone. I had Fenwick take the van out and get some coverage of the aftermath." Burne shook his head. "Three _days_, April. You didn't bring me zip, heck, you weren't around at all! If the police didn't have their hands full dealing with the robberies-"

"Or if they weren't so busy being paid off by the gangs in this city," April interrupted angrily. "What, Burne? You would have called them? Sent them out to look for me?"

"Now hold it. When I sent you out on this doozy, I _told _you that I didn't want you dead. That's why I sent _you, _of all people. Thought for sure that Sanchez would take care of you-"

April's stomach lurched and she pitched forward, planting her trembling hands on the edges of the heavy desk. "She did," she said hoarsely. Her eyes stung as tears welled up, blurring her vision. She shook her head, trying to blink them away. "She did," she repeated. "Spike kept me alive."

Thompson paused, frowning.

She raised her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. "She's trapped, Burne," she whispered. "They got her. She let them take her so I could get away. I don't know if she's alive, or if she is, how long she will be. You _need _to let me continue this."

"Just call the police," Vern suggested coolly. "I'm sure they'll find her."

Thompson raised his hand to silence him, shaking his head. "O'Neil's right, Fenwick. The cops in Dragon territory are all on the take. If the Dragons have Sanchez, there isn't anything the police are gonna do about it." He craned his thick neck, his craggy features softening slightly. "I'm sorry, O'Neil." For a moment, the bluster was gone from his voice as he ran his hand through his thinning, graying, blond hair. "I put you into this. Heck, I put _Sanchez _into this, and she doesn't even work for me. That's two people I've lost on this story. I'm killing it, once and for all, before I lose anyone else."

"You can't," April burst out, pleadingly as her hands clenched, white-knuckled, on the desk. "Burne, you _can't!_ I'm onto something, something _big,_ and when I get it, I'll blow this whole thing wide open. With proof, the police will _have _to shut them down! This is my only chance, the _only _way I can fix this!"

"Save it," Thompson turned away slightly, folding his arms across his chest. "You were right, O'Neil, and it isn't easy for me to admit that. This story is a suicide run. I should have known that from the beginning."

April's knees nearly buckled, but she forced herself upright, standing with her shoulders back, fists clenched at her sides, eyes blazing. "No, it's not. _I'm _still _alive_."

"Only because Sanchez probably isn't," Vern pointed out.

April whirled on him. "Don't say that. She's still alive. She has to be."

"You're deluding yourself," Vern said, impatience tinging his nasally voice. "If the Purple Dragons have her, she's gone. For good, O'Neil. Just be thankful it wasn't you."

"No. She contacted me last night." She spun again, a frantic, wild movement as she focused on Thompson. "I know who the Dragons' partner is," she murmured. She reached into her coat pocket, bypassing the death threat and triumphantly withdrawing the ninja pizzeria coupon she'd kept with her. She waved it in front of Thompson's face. "This is their meeting place. It's a ninja clan, Thompson. _That's _where the weapon that killed Burch came from."

Thompson froze, clearly torn as his eyes locked onto the coupon. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." April pulled the coupon back, raising her pointed chin. "And don't worry about me being safe. I've got protection." She cringed inwardly, praying that this didn't count as betraying the turtles' secret.

Thompson leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.

Vern squinted at her. "I hardly think a coupon is definitive proof for the involvement of _ninjas_, April."

"Not by itself. But I know how to find more proof. And you yourself said that a professional analyst thought it looked like the M.O. of ancient ninjas." April looked imploringly at Thompson. "You have to let me do this. Please, Burne. One more chance."

"Mr. Thompson, you can't possibly-"

"Shut up, Fenwick," Thompson snapped, shooting an irritable look at the weasley cameraman. "If I wanted your opinion, I'd have asked you. In case you forgot, I'm still in charge of this station."

Vern took a step back, looking slightly cowed. "Yes, sir."

Thompson clasped his hands together on the desk, looking at April intensely for a few moments before reluctantly nodding his head. "Okay, O'Neil. Against my better judgement, I'm gonna give you another chance. We've got a lead at the Central Park Zoo."

"Wait. The zoo?" April repeated, raising a thin eyebrow.

"That's right. Two hours ago, security cameras caught a couple of thugs, Purple Dragons, breaking into a few of the cages and collecting samples from some of the animals. The police report is in the wire room. Find out if it might be connected to the technology thefts."

"A zoo robbery?" Vern threw up his hands. "Why on earth would Purple Dragons rob a _zoo?_"

Thompson glared at him. "That's what I'm sending O'Neil to find out," he growled. "Now get _out_, Fenwick."

Vern folded his arms across his skinny chest, as he opened his mouth, shut it again, and _harrumphed _defensively. Upon getting no response from either other party, he hunched his shoulders, shuffling across the room, pulling open the door and slamming it shut behind him.

In his wake, the silence fell, but this time, it didn't seem quite so oppressive as it had in the hallway. April took a deep breath.

"Thank you, Burne," she said quietly. "You won't regret this."

"I'm regretting it already. Get on it, O'Neil."

"Yes sir." April straightened her shoulders, spinning and bounding towards the door, a determined expression fixed on her face. She paused at the door, turning around. "I promise, this time, I won't let you down."

Thompson waved his arms at her, a frown creasing his craggy features. "_Now, _O'Neil!"

"Yes sir!" April reached for the door, but before she could grab the handle, the door swung open from the outside, revealing Irma Langinstein, clasping a stack of papers in her hands.

"Sorry, sir, but it's important," Irma said breathlessly, thrusting the papers out. "Here's a list of locations that local scientists say have been experiencing uncharacteristic slight tremors."

April's bright blue eyes widened as she grabbed the stack from Irma's hands, flipping through them frantically. "Thanks, Irma, you're the best!"

"Tremors? What's all this about, O'Neil?" Burne demanded.

"It's all part of my scoop, Burne," April called, already pushing past Irma to dash down the hallway towards the wire-room. The interior to Channel 6 looked brighter somehow, as though the building itself knew things were looking up. "Stay by the phones, Irma! I'll call when I need a team!"

_It won't get away from me this time._

* * *

Twenty agonizingly long minutes later, April tore out of the Channel 6 news building like a woman possessed, screeching to a halt on the sidewalk and wildly glancing from side-to-side, peering around the corners of the building. The bright light of the surface during the daytime combined with the city noises was almost overwhelming after so long clambering around the sewers and abandoned buildings, but the familiarity was somewhat comforting.

April peered around again, more slowly this time, trying to spot the four turtles among the many bodies moving around the streets of New York.

_Where _ _ **are ** _ _they?_

"Hey, April! Psst!"

April spun around, clutching the stack of papers to her chest as she glanced down the alley alongside the Channel 6 building. "Hello?"

Raphael leaned against the building, a pair of dark glasses over his eyes, fedora pulled over his head, and trench coat wrapped around his body, clumsily obscuring his shell from a first glance. He slid the sunglasses down his beak, looking over them. "Yo, sister, what's happenin'?"

"Give me a break." April walked towards him, trying to appear casual. "Are your brothers with you?"

"Yeah, back there." Raphael jerked a green thumb at the alley behind him. His light demeanor dropped abruptly as Leonardo appeared behind him, a pensive look on his stern face.

"Did you find anything?" he asked.

"Boy, did I." April shifted the papers in her arms, glancing over her shoulder as she followed the pair into the alley. "I found enough information to lead us straight to the Technodrome!"

Donatello leaped from a fire-escape, landing on the alley floor and straightening up. "What did you learn?"

"Two hours ago, the Central Park Zoo was robbed by a couple of Purple Dragons. They stole samples from a rhino and a warthog, and then left." April held up the police report. "The images taken of the culprits match two of the guys who chased Spike and me into the sewers. And that's not all. I have a list of locations around the city that have experienced unusual underground tremors. I matched them with a map of the city, and guess what?"

"They follow a pattern!" Donatello exclaimed, raising on the tips of his toes to look over April's shoulder at the pages. "Leading from the building we saw last night to the Central Park Zoo!"

"Exactly!"

Leonardo nodded grimly. "Then that's where we must go."

"What would the Purple Dragons want with zoo animal samples?" Michelangelo asked from his perch atop a garbage bin. He cocked his head, scaly brow wrinkling. "If you ask me, they shoulda just stole the animals! Way cooler."

"That's not very practical," Donatello argued. "Suppose the Foot's base _is _underneath the zoo, it would be nonsensical to take entire living animals and try to contain them, when DNA samples will provide all the genetic information necessary. Though I do wonder why they would take samples in the first place."

"I guess we'll find out soon enough," Raphael crowed, drawing his sais and grinning.

"We have to move quickly," Leonardo said grimly. He craned his neck, searching the air as if sensing something. "While you searched above ground, Master Splinter sent us to the surface while he followed the underground tracks alone. I fear something may happen to him."

"Master Splinter can take care of himself! He's a highly trained ninja," Raphael pointed out. "You weren't just born with those ninja skills, remember? He _taught _us! I'm sure he'll be fine."

Leonardo pressed his beak shut and shook his head. "All the same, I'd prefer it if we moved quickly. Something doesn't feel right."

"Join the club," April said. "Leonardo's right. We don't have time to lose."


	6. Transformation and Treachery

The hesitation had cost her.

Spike wasn’t stupid. She knew that the Shredder never trusted her, probably never would. But he had thought he’d made progress. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, he probably  _ had. _ The promise of April’s eternal safety was a tempting one, one that she, even now, couldn’t bring herself to ignore.

But she’d slipped.

Spike may not have had the ‘reporters instincts’ that April claimed to use so often, but she wasn’t stupid, either.

The Shredder had noticed her moment of hesitation. He was watching her more closely now, waiting to see if she’d do it again. He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t done anything, just sent the Purple Dragons above surface to collect the samples from the animals. He’d let her keep the weapon that she grasped in a vice-grip in front of her as she stood, silent, at the foot of the dais, staring straight ahead. He’d even fed her, allowed her to regain some strength.

The Shredder may anticipate her disloyalty, but he didn’t view her as a threat.

And he knew that as long as April remained in danger, as long as the Shredder could help get her out of it, Spike had no choice but to go along, trapped in this mobile, metal prison.

She shivered, the black leather jacket doing little to protect her from the bone-chilling cold of the interior of the Technodrome. She felt the weight of the Shredder’s stare as it bored into the back of her head, from his position seated on his throne. 

She was finding it progressively harder to breathe, to think, as the thick pressure of  _ fear  _ constricted her throat and chest, tightening her stomach and pushing her heart to beat so fast she was surprised it hadn’t burst. Not fear for herself, but the all-consuming, helpless terror of knowing that the person she’d sworn to protect, that she’d trained her entire life to be able to take care of, was in mortal danger, or dead already.

And there was nothing she could do.

She shifted in place, frowning as another weight brought itself to her attention, an object nestled in her jacket pocket.

_ The tape recorder. _

That tape would get April that story of a lifetime she’d always wanted.

The Shredder’s confession to working with the Purple Dragons, ordering the death of Morgan Burch, and admitting to arranging the death of April herself; all of it was on that tape.

Spike didn’t need much of an imagination to figure out what would happen if the Shredder got suspicious and found that tape.

He’d kill her without a second thought.

The thought in and of itself, surprisingly, didn’t bother her terribly. What  _ did  _ was the knowledge that without her, there wouldn’t even be the pretense of keeping April alive.

She couldn’t afford to screw up again.

Spike’s frown deepened as a voice crackled through the communications system embedded into the Technodrome.

_ “We got your samples, Master Shredder, an’ I’ll have y’know it wasn’t easy. N’ I spoke to the rest of the boys; your parts are bein’ delivered to the dropoff point.” _

Behind her, the Shredder spoke into the microphone mounted in his throne. “Excellent work, Hun. For once, you do not disappoint. You may enter.” He depressed a button on the arm of his throne, and the door hissed open, revealing a battered Hun, Bebop and Rocksteady.

Hun led the trio into the room, slowly, warily stepping forward, gripping the box between his hands. He dropped into a stiff bow, his upper lip curled in a mixture of defiant sneer and pained winced. “Anythin’ else y’want while you’re givin’ orders,  _ sir _ ?”

The Shredder leaned back in his throne, studying Hun with shrewd, cold, eyes. “Not from you. However, I have decided to relieve you of your subordinates. Permanently.”

Hun’s dark eyes flashed with suspicion as he straightened, still clutching the white box. The overly-bright overhead lights emphasizing the tattoos over his shoulders, proclaiming his allegiance to the Purple Dragons and the Foot. “Killin’ your own tools don’t seem like your style, Shredder.”

The Shredder stood slowly, allowing Hun to take in his imposing figure. “ _ Master  _ Shredder to you, street scum,” he growled. “Rest assured, I do not kill what I can still use.”

He didn’t look at Spike. He didn’t have to.

Spike glanced at the Shredder from the corner of her eye, jaw grinding. The words were meant for her as much as they were Hun, a reminder, if not a threat. If he was trying to intimidate her, it wouldn’t work.

Hun stood his ground, though he shifted uncomfortably as he held the Shredder’s look. “Whaddaya want my boys here for? We got your parts, n’ your samples. We’ve done everythin’ you asked for. When’re you gonna hold up your end of the bargain?”

“As a matter of fact, that is exactly what I tend to do right now.” The Shredder slowly sat back down, his movements controlled, his voice even. “Your men have proven themselves of little value to me. They have failed, repeatedly, and I intend to...improve them.”

Hun snorted. “Failed? It was the Purple Dragons that was gonna off O’Neil. You’re the one that told us you wanted her alive.”

“One act of competence does not erase the rest of your record. Your work is careless, clumsy. You leave behind a trail that the most unskilled reporter could follow. However, I believe that with proper modifications, I can make your gang a powerful fighting force.” The Shredder leaned forward in his throne. “Starting with these two.”

Rocksteady started, glancing up from under his heavy eyelids and folding his arms. “Hold on. We didn’t volunteer for nothin’.”

“I wasn’t asking for  _ volunteers. _ ” The Shredder refocused his vision on Hun. “They will have the strength and power of a dozen men. They will be unstoppable.”

Hun narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think so. Weapons is one thing. Modifying our guys is a whole different ball game.”

The Shredder moved his hand slightly, depressing a button on the arm of his throne. The doors swished open, allowing entry to two dozen robotic Foot soldiers. Despite their heavy metal frames, they moved quickly, circling the throne room, effectively closing the three Purple Dragons in.

Hun’s hand snapped towards his hip, as his fingers closed around empty air where his gun had been, ignoring the deafening clatter as the box fell to the floor. “Hey, what is this?”   
  


The Shredder watched him impassively. “I do not require your permission. I am taking what I need. Footbots, seize them.”

“Hey-”

“What?!”

Bebop and Rocksteady had just enough time to lunge forward angrily before the Footbots were upon them, locking grips onto their arms before they had a chance to twist away. Two more of the robotic ninjas shot from their positions against the wall, trapping Hun’s arms at his sides. He struggled to pull away, teeth bared, eyes blazing. Another robot bent down stiffly, reaching out to clasp the fallen box, carefully picking it up.

The Shredder rose from his throne once more, stepping down from the dais and crossing, almost casually, towards the control panels, tapping a few keys almost disinterestedly. “Perhaps you would like to witness the procedure yourself, Hun.” He turned. “And you, Ms. Sanchez. I think it is beneficial if you observe it as well.”

Spike jerked her head up, twisting around to stare at the Shredder. “Me? How come?”

“I believe you will both find it a rather illuminating experience.”

With a soft hiss, a panel on the console slid open in front of the Shredder. A long, cylindrical canister rose slowly from the machinery, catching the light on its silver surface. The Shredder reached out, carefully plucking it from the console and turning, his movements relaxed, his voice controlled. “Footbots, take the experiment subjects to the laboratory and prepare the samples. Ms. Sanchez, I advise you to bring the kanabō. You may need it.”

* * *

  
She’d known this was coming.

But for some reason, as Spike followed the Shredder down the corridors of the Technodrome towards the laboratory, she felt sick to her stomach.

This wasn’t pre-fight nerves. This wasn’t even fear.

It was regret.

The pit in her stomach felt like a black hole, churning her gut. Her jaw ground so hard her teeth ached, her chest now felt so tight she could hardly get enough air in. She felt trapped. The weapon over her shoulder and the tape player in her jacket pocket felt like opposite weights, pulling her in different directions. She could hear Bebop and Rocksteady, shouting and swearing, voices full of bravado, from the front of the procession.

Bebop’s words from before the fateful boxing match a few nights ago echoed in her mind: 

_ When you mess with a Dragon, you get the fangs. _

The memory of Rocksteady’s triumphant grin, even as she’d pounded his face until it was ground meat, seemed almost unreal.

_ You’re dead,  _ he had snarled, confident in his defeat that  _ she  _ would be the one paying. Today, however, it was he who was frog-marched down a hallway, the subject in the Shredder’s war experiment.

She should be satisfied. Instead, she felt grim.

_ You ain’t doin’ this. Shredder is. He woulda done this with or without you,  _ she told herself.

“In here,” Shredder said brusquely.

Spike glanced around as the Shredder led the procession into another blindingly white room, lined with console panels not dissimilar to the throne room. Unlike the throne room, however, at the center stood two seperate tables, exact duplicates of the one she had been strapped to when she’d first woke up in this monochrome nightmare.

Spike’s stomach lurched as Bebop and Rocksteady renewed their struggling, a frantic note entering their threats.

Behind her, Hun was silent, restrained by more robotic Foot soldiers as he strained against their grip.

“Secure them to the tables,” the Shredder instructed, crossing to the center of the room. Every movement was controlled, his voice steady, like so many cold, mad scientists about to create monsters in so many of those movies that April hated. Spike grimaced, the motion pulling at the stitches as the Footbots slammed Bebop and Rocksteady down, stepping back only as the metal bonds forced their chests, waists and legs to the table.

“What’re ya gonna do ta us, man?” Rocksteady bellowed, bucking against the restraints. His beady eyes were dilated, bravado now totally gone.

“Let us outta here! The Purple Dragons ain’t gonna take this sittin’ down! Y’mess with a Dragon, y’get the fangs!” Bebop roared. His ever-present sunglasses slipped from his face in the struggle, landing on his chest to reveal the wild-eyed expression of terror that rendered his words void. “Right, boss?”

Hun’s face was dead-white. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. There were no words of vengeance, no assurances that all would be well.

The Shredder advanced on the squirming Dragons, the canister still clasped in his hands as another Foot soldier stepped forward, a swab in either hand. The soldier smeared one swab on Rocksteady’s hand, and the other on Bebop’s, before stepping back, its mechanical movements becoming more menacing by the minute.

Spike’s head was pounding to the same beat as her heart as she stepped forward, mouth open as the Shredder raised the canister. Before she could stop it, the words tumbled out:

_ “Hold on.” _

The Shredder paused, inclining his head slightly as he lowered the canister. “Ms. Sanchez. Surely you are not volunteering.”

“No.” Spike drew herself up to her full height, looking the Shredder in the eye as she forced herself on. “Jus’ thinkin’ maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I mean, if y’need these guys ta go find somebody, maybe makin’ ‘em monsters ain’t such a good plan. I thought y’ninja clans were all ‘bout stealth n’ all.”

“Yeah!” Bebop agreed desperately. “We’re no good to you ‘f y’- wait. Monsters?!”

Rocksteady renewed his struggling. “Yeah! Or, why don’t y’ just use her instead? She’s a prisoner, an’ an enemy of the Dragons!”

Spike’s knuckles turned white as her hand clenched into a fist around the handle of the weapon. She swung it down from her shoulder, bracing it against the floor, refusing to break 

“I never throw away what I can use,” the Shredder said calmly. “And I never misuse a resource. Ms. Sanchez will be useful enough in another time, in another way. But your usefulness, as you are, has run out.”

He raised the canister. “Ms. Sanchez shows excellent foresight, but I have Foot soldiers for stealth. I am merely refining these two so they may excell at what they were meant to be: mindless brutes.”

In one smooth motion, the canister was open. The Shredder stepped smoothly between the tables, carefully pouring a few drops of the thick liquid onto both Purple Dragons.

Spike stopped cold, mid-step, mouth open, as for a moment, the room fell silent. The Purple Dragons went utterly still, the Shredder frozen in anticipation.

And then the screaming started.

Spike had seen countless horror films, but nothing could have prepared her for this.

Bones contorted, muscle structures reforming as the metal bars across the subjects bent outward, stressed until they snapped as each figure grew twice their size, writhing and howling in agony. Bebop’s nose stretched into a snout, brown hair sprouting over his entire body, bursting through his clothes as his lower teeth elongated into tusks. Rocksteady’s nose grew a horn as his skin grayed, clothes ripping slightly as he grew, ears moving to the top of his head as it stretched, bones cracking as it formed the face of a rhinoceros.

And all the while, the screaming never stopped. Spike was unable to look away, the sight searing itself into her memory as she fought a wave of nausea. The kanabō dropped from her grip, clattering to the floor as Spike raised a calloused hand to knot in the shirt over her chest, stomach and shoulders heaving.

The Shredder watched, coldly observing with interest as he placed the cap back on the canister and stepping back. Hun roared, lunging forward once more. With a grinding, shearing sound, the Foot soldiers’ grip released. Hun shot forward, raising his fists as he surged towards the Shredder.

The Shredder was already moving, turning slightly as he tucked the canister close to his body. His fist raised once, blades shining, before they came down, carving through Hun’s clothing and piercing his right shoulder, grazing his jawline on the way down. Hun dropped to his knees with a shout, clutching with his left hand at the blood-soaked fabric.

“Foot soldiers, take Hun to a prison cell. I will deal with his insolence shortly,” Shredder said disinterestedly. He drew back his boot before driving it forward, into Hun’s gut. The Dragon collapsed to the ground, groaning as his blood smeared across the pristine floor.

The Foot soldiers stepped forward, grasping Hun from either side, yanking him backwards, onto his knees, dragging him from the room. The door opened, then closed behind them, out of Spike’s line of sight. She barely noticed, barely registered the entire event, eyes fixed on the tables.

Bebop and Rocksteady had stopped writhing, now apparently complete in their transformation. Hun’s word seemed now more appropriate than ever:  _ Monsters. _

The Shredder took another step back, eyes blazing with intensity as he gazed upon the mutants. “Are they not marvellous?”

Spike staggered, fingers clutching tighter at her chest.  _ This is too far.  _

Bebop rolled off the table, hitting the ground with a  _ thud. _ He slowly rose, rolling his hairy shoulders as he reached towards the table, sliding his sunglasses back over his warthog snout as he flexed his massive arms. “Hey, Rocksteady. You feel that?” He flexed again, balling his hands into fists.

“Yeh.” Rocksteady sat up, rubbing his hand over his horned head. He grinned, an unnatural-looking expression on the animalistic face. “Y’feel strong, Bebop?”

“Yeh. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.” Rocksteady jumped off the table, shaking the room as he landed in a crouch. “An’ I know jus’ the punk ta test this new horn out on.” His beady, half-crazed eyes landed on Spike, blazing with ferocity.

Spike’s eyes widened. She craned her neck, looking up at the massive frames as realization set in. 

She swore.

Fighter instinct took over, cueing her body into position. Her hands closed into fists, her weight steadied as she crouched. Her heartbeat and breathing slowed.

“Ready for a rematch, Sanchez?” Rocksteady pounded his fist into his leathery palm, lowering his head, brandishing his new horn.

The Shredder took a step out of the way, watching with interest as Rocksteady charged, head-first.

Spike leaped out of the way as the horn smashed into the wall, denting the metallic surface outward. She landed awkwardly, fighting to regain her balance. She swung her fist into Rocksteady’s eye, now higher than it used to be. He yowled, bringing his heavy head around and raising a massive fist.

Spike braced her arms above her head, barely catching the fist that came down over her head. The weight and force drove her to her knees, smashing down onto the cold, hard floor as she stared at the faded Purple Dragon tattoo, still visible on Rocksteady’s leathery forearm.

The snort behind her was her only warning before Bebop smashed into her back, his hand clasped around the back of her neck, tangling in the coarse hair, wrapping in her jacket collar.

“We’re gonna enjoy this!” Bebop tightened his grip, yanking her backwards into his gut. Spike gagged, choking on her collar and the stench of animal now emanating from his fur. “Hey Rocksteady, take a swing at her. Show her what happens when you try ta get the best of a Dragon!”

Spike gritted her teeth, driving her elbow back with as much force as her powerful frame could muster, directly into the center of Bebop’s pig-snout.

The warthog-monster squealed, releasing his grip on Spike as he raised both hands to his nose. Spike lunged out of the way a split second before Rocksteady plowed into his partner, knocking them both backwards onto the table Bebop had been transformed on. The combined weight snapped the table in half, and it crashed, groaning, to the ground.

Spike’s boots slipped in the puddle of Hun’s blood as she staggered, spinning back around, raising her fists again, eyes blazing, blood thundering, red-hot, through her veins, almost calming in its ferocity. This was better.

She could understand a fight. She’d take a fight over trying to use her wits any day.

Even if the fight was one that she probably wouldn’t win.

“Perhaps you would fare better with your weapon.”

Spike started at the sound of the Shredder’s voice, echoing from across the room where he stood, a spectator, coolly watching her fight for her life.

Her gaze flickered away from Bebop and Rocksteady, clumsily untangling themselves from the wreckage of the lab tables. She spun, jaw grinding, wide eyes frantically scanning the floor for the discarded weapon.

_ There. _

The kanabō lay on the floor by the wall, abandoned from when she’d dropped it during the transformation.

Spike whirled, starting for it just as Bebop raised a piece of the broken table, hurling it after her. 

A hunk of heavy metal clipped her bad shoulder, knocking her to the floor. Her head collided with the surface with a  _ crack _ .

“Gotcha!” Bebop crowed.

Spike shoved herself to her knees, groaning, shaking her head in an effort to clear the pounding haze blurring her thoughts. She tasted blood in her mouth. The stitches holding the mutilated flesh on her right cheek had torn open, leaving the skin raw, open, dripping as the ripped thread hung down, brushing her bruised jawline. She didn’t feel it now. She would later, if she was lucky.

She raised her head, forcing her eyes to lock onto the kanabō. Her vision swam. The floor beneath her trembled as the mutants stampeded towards her. 

_ Get up. _

She wasn’t used to being on the losing end of a fight. She wasn’t even used to being on the losing end of a fight against Purple Dragons. It had been less than a week since she’d beaten Rocksteady, somehow finding it in her exhausted body to keep going, round after round, wearing him down.

But that had been in a ring, with rules, against a human. This was a no-holds-barred brawl, one against two inhuman monsters. Her gut twisted, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end as the mutants came closer, their heavy steps as loud as thunder.

Her only shot to stay alive was to keep them stumbling over their own strength.

She pressed her palm onto the ground, shoving her shoulder up, grunting with the effort.

_ Get up, Sanchez! _

Bebop reached her first.

Spike shot to her feet, pulling from energy she didn’t know she had, pulling back to smash the side of her fist into Bebop’s hairy stomach as he charged her. He barely noticed, raising one booted foot to slam it down onto her chest, pushing her back to the floor. 

She hit the ground, the wind gusting out of her lungs under the weight.

Rocksteady was still coming, roaring as he rushed down the length of the room.

Spike threw her arm out, grasping blindly at the area she’d dropped the kanabō, fingers closing around empty air as Rocksteady came steadily nearer.

Her fingers brushed the cold handle.

She set her teeth, planting her heels. She bucked her hips, heaving with all her strength, shoving herself just an inch away from Bebop’s weight to wrap her fingers around the weapon.

A sense of grim satisfaction swept over her.

_ Gotcha. _

She wrenched her shoulder forward, heaving in a clumsy arc over her head to slam the kanabō spike-first, on Bebop’s knee. 

He yelped, stepping back, foot coming off of Spike’s chest. She threw herself into a roll, just barely avoiding Rocksteady’s fist as she clambered to her feet, grasping the handle with both hands. She spun again, setting her weight, chin down, eyes up, thick shoulder muscles bunching as she set to swing the bat-like weapon again. Rocksteady turned, almost instantly, to absorb the next blow with his thick hide.

The shock of impact reverberated up Spike’s arms, not quite enough to make her drop the weapon, but enough to make her step back, chest heaving, sweat pouring off of her in rivers. 

They were getting faster. 

Spike swung again, smashing the spiked end of the kanabō across Rocksteady’s face as he advanced. Her abdomen tensed, bracing as he howled, bending double to crush his meaty shoulder into her gut and throw her back into the wall. Her spine protested the abrupt contact as her head snapped back, cracking against the metal. She shook her head to clear it, fighting to keep standing as her aching muscles worked almost instinctively to clumsily raise the kanabō again. Her eyes strained to focus on the blurred image of the mutated rhino and warthog, now standing together and slowly advancing, grinning.

  
  


There was blood on her knuckles, blood in her mouth, the coppery taste a comforting sense of familiarity among the nightmare. She was going to lose. For the second time in her life, she was going to lose a fight. Her  _ last  _ fight.

She worked her jaw, spitting a stream of bloody saliva onto the pristine metal floor as she drew herself up to her full six feet and three inches of height.

_ Show them why they call you Unbreakable. _

Spike set her weight, boots digging into the smooth floor as she bent, swinging the bat-like weapon in an upwards swing, catching Bebop under the chin. 

His jaw clicked shut and he staggered off balance, bumping into Rocksteady. Spike gritted her teeth and pressed in, reaching up to slam the hilt of the weapon into one of Bebop’s tusks, using the momentum to arc the kanabō up, bringing it down on Rocksteady’s horn. She ducked under a swing of a ham-sized fist, but wasn’t fast enough to avoid Bebop’s huge elbow, catching her across the chest and sending her sprawling to the floor.

Above her, the ceiling and its bright lights spun in dizzying circles as her vision blurred, nausea gripping her battered guts. Her throat tightened, almost closing as she fought to get in another breath, eyes dilated.

She refused to die like this. If death was coming, she’d meet it on her feet.

She rolled onto her side, propping her elbow under her bruised ribs, gritting her teeth and shoving herself to one knee, head up, chin jutted out in an expression of defiance. She braced herself on her weapon, hauling herself to her feet, staggering.

Slowly now, the pair advanced, grinning.

“We toldja.” Rocksteady gloated. “Nobody gets the best of the Purple Dragons. An’ now you, and yer reporter friend, are gonna die, just like Burch did. Shoulda stayed outta our turf, Sanchez.”

She was going to die.

It was a cold realization, not a surprise. There was no shock, no panic as Rocksteady raised a fist, preparing to split her skull open. In this moment, the only thing that filled her memory was one regret: the regret of her broken promise.

The fist came down. She watched it fall.

_ “Enough!” _

The Shredder’s voice echoed off of the walls, overwhelmingly loud. Bebop faltered, hand falling, limply to his side. Spike staggered, gasping in a breath as the head of the Foot Clan approached, still holding the canister of mutagen.

  
“Perfect. A complete success.”

“Success?!” Bebop bellowed, spreading his arms. “Y’call this a success?”

“It is a disappointment that nothing could be done to enhance your intellect, but with the power you now wield, you will have no need for it. You are far more effective in this form than you ever have been in the past, the perfected form of brute force.”

“We can’t do anythin’ else,” Rocksteady grunted, gesturing at his body. “Look at us! We’re freaks!”

“A necessary evil.”

“Necessary for what?” Bebop grunted.

“Necessary for combating the turtle-mutants that have so recently bested my Foot soldiers. You will find the lair where these mutants are hiding, invade, and destroy. Leave nothing alive.”

Spike’s head shot up, eyes bloodshot as an icy chill shot through her chest. “Hold on,” she spat, pushing herself off of the wall. “That ain’t what y’ said. April gets out first, ‘member?”

Shredder paused, turning slightly to eye her. “That was to be the deal struck should you vow allegiance to me. And you, my dear Ms. Sanchez, show allegiance to no one  _ except  _ Ms. O’Neil. If I were to allow her to live, you would obey me only until you could have found a way to usurp me.” 

Spike’s gut wrenched.

“Rest assured, I could easily have handled your inevitable betrayal. However, my ally and I decided upon a quicker and more efficient way to make use of you. Ms. O’Neil is a loose end, and now, so are you.”

Her grip tightened on the kanabō, knuckles aching. She took a step back, heart hammering as it dropped into her stomach, pounding so loudly she couldn’t think.

She could hear April’s voice in the back of her head, warning her, telling her to be careful, to try to talk her way out.

Spike had never been good with words. They wouldn’t do her any good now anyway.

She squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze, thin lips curling into a snarl. She bared her teeth, jaw grinding.

“Let me outta here,” she growled.

The Shredder chuckled, a hollow, tinny sound through the mask. “I think not. Your loyalties will never be secured, but that does not mean I have no use for you. You will serve very well as another experiment as I perfect and expand my mutant forces.”

_ April is going to die. _

The thought overran her, bringing her mind to a halt as the thought repeated, over and over again, louder every time. Her broken promise tore at her chest, accompanied by the memories of Bebop and Rocksteady’s agonizing mutation.

The pain of her failure boiled over, white hot. Frustration, terror, rage and uncertainty came to a crescendo, her muscles bunched.

She didn’t realize she’d started moving until she was halfway through the swing, lunging forward with a roar, eyes blazing, aiming the kanabō for Shredder’s unarmored midriff.

The Shredder was there to meet it, blocking with his gauntlet before side stepping, wrenching his arm downward, throwing her balance. Spike caught herself, swinging with the handle this time, jabbing upward at his faceplate just fast enough-

  
The plate came off at one side, hinged from the other side of his helmet, revealing Oruku Saki’s face, too human for the monstrosities he had created, for the inhuman actions he had committed. Spike’s face twisted further into a wild looking sneer, heaving the head of the kanabō towards his face, utterly consumed by the urge to smash it in, to make him  _ pay _ .

The Shredder’s gauntlet came up to block, blades flashing. She flinched. The memory of the stabbing, blinding pain slicing through her cheek staggered her, freezing her for just an instant, eyes wide as the aching wound on her cheek throbbed again, blood dripping down her collar.

Panic rose in her chest and throat, panic for April, terror for her own inevitable mutation at the hands of this monster. Her chest burned with hatred,  _ real  _ hatred, with an intensity she had never felt before. Her gut roiled with it, the heat of loathing inflaming every muscle.

Spike butted the handle of the weapon against his abdomen, driving all her weight into the blow. The Shredder’s eyes flickered, the only indication that he’d felt the hit. His arm came up, blades shining in the bright light, crashing down, elbow first, on the back of Spike’s wounded shoulder with a  _ crack. _

Spike shouted, dropping the kanabō. She staggered back, teeth gritted, shoulder, neck and head pounding with pain.

Bebop and Rocksteady were on top of her, grabbing each of her arms, gleefully pulling them roughly back, forcing her to her knees. Rocksteady’s huge hand knotted into the matted hair on the back of her neck, yanking backwards, pulling her head back, chin up, forcing her to stare up into the Shredder’s face. He stepped forward, looking down with a cold, disinterested expression.

“You could have been a great warrior, if you were intelligent enough to submit when you were defeated,” he remarked. “As it is, you are little better than the brutes you look down on. You shall meet a similar fate.”

Spike’s lip curled further, mouth too dry to spit as rage and pain blurred the room around her, chest and shoulders heaving for air, throat tight, pulse roaring in her ears. Her muscles bunched, but she could only struggle, attempting to wrench out of the mutants’ grip.

“ _ Drop dead _ ,” she growled hoarsely, the veins in her neck throbbing.

The air crackled with the sound of static, the Shredder’s head jerking up as a voice came through invisible speakers.

_ “Oruku Saki!”  _

The voice was garbled, almost slimy-sounding, high-pitched in comparison with the Shredder's commanding baritone, but no less cunning.

The voice of the Shredder’s unseen ally.

_ “Saki, report to the throne room, immediately. Our search is over. It seems our prey has come to  _ ** _us_ ** _ .” _

The Shredder paused, eyes searching the ceiling as he listened. He nodded, satisfaction spreading over his face as he reached up, re-attaching the faceplate to the remainder of his helmet, obscuring his features once more. “The old fool has fallen right into my trap,” he murmured. 

He turned, eyeing Bebop and Rocksteady. “You two, return Ms. Sanchez’s weapon to the cache and escort her to a cell.” He reached his hand out towards the wall, thumbing a button on a control panel. “Foot soldiers, assemble a squadron to wait by the entry and prepare for capture. We are about to have another guest.”


	7. The Black Hole

The adrenaline had faded moments after Bebop and Rocksteady had thrown her into the cell, leaving behind it a pain worse than Spike had felt after any fight.

Her hands clenched where they rested on her knees. She ignored the stabbing pain that shot through them, raising an arm to swipe at the hanging threads from her torn stitches. Her hand came away smeared with dried blood, adding to the layers already caking her knuckles.

The undiscovered tape recorder rested in her pocket, a hollow triumph. After all of this, in the end, it hadn’t mattered at all, a distraction in the grand scheme of staying alive. Even that, she’d failed in.

Spike dropped her head back against the wall of the metal cubicle, exposing her grimy neck to the cool air. The overly-clean scent of the cell mixed with the stench of blood, sweat, and sewer muck that she was still covered in.

Spike closed her aching eyes, dropping her head back down so her chin hit her collarbone. Her jawline ached from grinding, as well as the pummeling it had taken over the last few days.

The Shredder was going to mutate her into a monster, like he had Bebop and Rocksteady, and then he’d kill April. The thought had settled into her bones, a cold chill that sapped her will to move, to fight. 

The image of April, crouching by the manhole cover, eyes wide, face pale, flashed before her eyes, a frozen picture, the last time she’d seen her in the light.

Spike had known what to do, then. The plan had come so easily to her, the unshakeable knowledge of what she had to do. She’d had control. Options.

Strength.

She’d been strong, hadn’t she? Angel’s Champion, the Unbreakable Spike Sanchez. She’d been strong enough to beat a Purple Dragon in the ring. Strong enough to hold her own, to never have lost a fight before.

Strong enough for April to depend on.

And just like that, her strength was gone.

Inside this metal prison, forced into a world of ninja and monsters, despite nearly two decades of pushing herself, training her body and mind until she was near exhaustion, molding herself into a fighter _ ,  _ she was weak.

Twenty years of ensuring that she’d always be able to do one thing, always be able to protect  _ one  _ person, and she’d failed.

Her gut roiled, churning what little food she’d managed to choke down. There were no tears, no dry sobs, just a suffocating feeling of failure. Of helplessness. 

The Shredder had played her, used her, and planned to use her again. All of her struggling for some semblance of control hadn’t mattered. No matter how cleverly she’d played it, she’d been a rat in a trap.

A small comfort, that no matter what she’d done, this was the outcome, trapped in a living hell of monsters and mutants.

Spike’s right clenched into a fist as she roared, slamming it sideways into the wall next to her, 

inflaming the throbbing already present in it. Her chest heaved, struggling to get air in, ribs aching.

_ “Pardon me, are you alright?” _

Spike’s eyes snapped open, head jerking upward. She shifted forward, stiffly rising to her feet as she craned her neck, glancing around the small cubicle, searching madly for the source of the other voice. 

“Who said that?” she rasped, spinning. “Where are you?”

_ “I apologize. I did not mean to frighten you.”  _ The voice was gentle, unafraid. It was an old voice, warm, out of place surrounded by the cold, metal prison.

The voice came through the right side wall, muffled slightly, but there, nonetheless. Spike took a tentative step towards it, eyes narrowing at the barrier to the other cell. She eyed the wall darkly. “Don’t remember any other prisoners in this joint,” she rumbled. “How long have y’been here?”

_ “Not long.” _

Spike frowned, suspicion gnawing at the back of her head as she took another step towards the wall. The memory of the Shredder’s words rang in her head, forgotten in her self-pity:  _ Foot soldiers, assemble a squadron to wait by the entry and prepare for capture. We are about to have another guest. _

_ It seems the old fool has come to us. _

“Y’re Hamato Yoshi.”

A pause.

_ “I was.” _

Spike’s fists clenched, bruised knuckles aching as she lunged forward, slamming her fist against the wall again, surge of rage drowning out the pain. The conjured images of vicious reptile monsters flashed before her eyes as Hun’s story came back to her, as the Shredder’s tale of the dangerous Hamato Yoshi wound its way through her thoughts.

“If you’ve done anythin’ t’April, I swear I’ll rip your throat out,” she thundered. 

_ “Do not worry, my fellow prisoner. I am not your enemy.” _

She’d heard that one before. She wouldn’t be so easily fooled this time.

“Prove it,” she snarled. 

_ “I fear that may be a trifle difficult in the present circumstances. I can tell you, however, that April is quite safe, Ms...Spike, is it?” _

Spike’s jaw clenched. She nodded jerkily, forgetting that this Hamato Yoshi couldn’t see her.

_ “Rest assured, she has been well taken care of. One of my sons found her in the sewers and brought her to our home. She is unharmed. Shaken, but unhurt.” _

A pause.

_ “She is searching for you as we speak.” _

_ April’s still alive. _

Spike heaved a broken gasp as anger poured out of her. Her knees buckled. She forced herself to stay standing, resting her forehead against the cool metal as an overwhelming wave of relief struck her. 

Of all of the promises that this stranger could have made her, all of the things he could have said,  _ that  _ was the one thing that she would have believed. 

No matter the danger, April didn’t give up on anything, whether it was a story she really wanted, a crossword puzzle in the morning paper, or friends. 

That, more than any evidence Hamato Yoshi could have given her, was solid proof that April was still alive, that Spike hadn’t failed her. 

Not yet, anyway.

Spike raised her head, staring at the distorted reflection of her scarred face. Her eyes hardened.

If April was trying to find her, she was in even more danger than before.

Spike braced her palm against the wall, pushing away, smearing the spotless metal with mud and blood. She turned towards the door, setting her jaw, eyeing it as she took a step back, giving herself more room.

The battledrum was back, pounding in her ears as she turned her good shoulder to the wall and charged, throwing her weight into it.

She bounced off the wall, grimacing as she backed up, coiled like a spring.

_ Again. _

It  _ hurt,  _ but it was a good hurt. She had a plan again. The corners of her thin lips tilted in a determined look as she threw herself at the door again, all one-hundred-and-ninety-eight pounds of her hitting with all her might.

_ “I’m not certain that brute force is necessarily the way out of this situation. Should you break through the cell door, what then? Oruku Saki’s lair is a maze, heavily guarded.” _

“Jus’ let me get through this door first,” Spike forced out through gritted teeth. “I’ll worry ‘bout my way out from there.”

_ “You have much determination. But one warrior cannot defeat a hundred. Rescue will come, I can sense it.” _

Spike paused, breathing heavily. She swiped at the torn stitches on her cheek, wincing as her blunted fingernails scraped the raw flesh, coming away bloody. Her skin itched, muscles aching to  _ move,  _ to  _ do  _ something.

“I ain’t got time for a rescue,” she muttered. “I wasted too much time ‘s it is.” She raised her head, glancing at the wall that seperated her and the other prisoner.

“Y’took care of April, ‘s that whatcha said?”

_ “I did my best to calm her and ensure that she was uninjured. My sons did the rest.” _

Spike paused, thinking. “Y’any good in a fight, old man?”

A muffled chuckle came through the wall, a tinny sound.  _ “It has been many years since I sharpened my steel on another’s blade.” _

“Well, get ready to get sharpenin’. ‘F y’helped April, I owe y’one.” 

She backed up, gritting her teeth, lips set in a firm, grim line as she lined up her shoulder with the door agian, surging forward.

_ Hold on, April. I’m coming. _

_ I won’t let you down again. _

* * *

The sun was setting over the Central Park Zoo, filling it with shadows. Even the lights of New York City were not enough to brighten the dark orange sky on this, the last day of the year.

  
Under other circumstances, it would have been beautiful.

April clung to Raphael’s coat-covered shell as he clambered up the stone entrance to the zoo, fingers knotting in the fabric.

“Hey, loosen up back there, will ya? Not used to being a taxi here, y’know,” Raphael grunted, hooking his scaly fingers over the lip of the arch and hauling himself over. He huffed as April let go, rolling off of him and landing on her hands and knees on top of the Central Park Zoo entrance.

“Sorry.” April shook her head, turning to Leonardo as he crouched, overlooking the zoo with a thoughtful look on his scaly face. “What’s wrong?”

“Donatello should be back by now,” he murmured. “He’s disabling the security so that our presence isn’t detected.”

“Knowing him, he probably got distracted by some shiny metal parts,” Raphael said, springing to his feet and moving to join his brother by the ledge. He narrowed his eyes, overlooking the park. “So, this is a zoo.”

April nodded, smiling wistfully. “Yes. I haven’t been here since I was a little girl, but I always used to love the zoo.”

“I’ve always wanted to go here!” Michelangelo exclaimed, plunking himself into a seated position, legs dangling over the entryway. He pointed, grinning. “Check it out! There’s a tropical zone over there! Think there’ll be snakes and things?”

“I don’t know,” April admitted. “I never much liked reptiles.”

All three turtles paused, glancing at her over their coat collars. She shrugged sheepishly. 

“Until now, anyway,” she amended lamely. She scooted closer to the middle of the arch, leaning against the brick structure in the center and hugging her knees to her chest, biting her lower lip as she looked over the darkening zoo. Even from here, she could hear the noises of animals, shifting, grunting, quiet calls as the creatures settled down for the night. The earthy, musky smell of the various animals, mixed with the scent of the park food, all mixed together in an overpowering odor that to sewer-dwellers, probably seemed tame.

As it was, despite the time April had spent in the sewers, she had to fight the instinct to gag.

She rested her chin on her knees, staring out over the zoo, shivering slightly. It just looked so...empty. After a lifetime of living in New York City, the sight of an abandoned  _ anything  _ was eerie.

This, the apartment, the sewers...April was quickly getting used to the uncomfortable emptiness of deserted places.

Leonardo shifted his weight, surveying the layout once more. “Donatello, where  _ are  _ you?”

“Here.” Donatello’s voice materialized, apparently out of thin air. He dropped from the trees, landing on the arch, making barely more noise than a whisper. “You know, I would love to come here and study these animals in person, instead of just researching them. I’m sure it’d be fascinating! Although, now is the perfect time, since the zoo is closed-”

“Did you disable the security cameras?” Leonardo interrupted.

“Of course.” Donatello opened his hand, displaying a collection of miscellaneous parts. “There’s no way they can pick up a video feed with these missing! We’re completely off the radar.”

Leonardo glanced at the wiring in Donatello’s palm. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“There is a reason I’m late, though.” Donatello turned, facing April. “I think I know where to look for clues. The police have roped off an area by the mammal cages. That’s as good a place to start as any, right?”

“And it’ll be easier to look now that the place is closed,” Raphael added, crossing his arms over his plastron. “At least now, no  _ humans  _ can stop us.”

“Unfortunately, the police have probably been over the area already,” Leonardo mused. “We must be extra-vigilant in order to pick up things they may have missed.”

April shook her head, rising unsteadily to her feet. “No. As soon as the cops figured out it was Purple Dragons, I’d bet they stopped all collecting of clues.”

“Why would they do that?” Michelangelo asked quizzically.

“The Purple Dragons bought them off. Most of the cops in this town are owned by one gang or another.” April stepped towards the edge of the arch, looking down. After leaping from rooftops, the drop was a small one, but it was a little higher than she was comfortable with.

“Well, that leaves us a better trail, at least,” Donatello sighed.

Leonardo nodded grimly. “Let’s go check it out.”

“Okay.” Michelangelo bounded to his feet. “But I want to go look at the animals after.”

“You’re on your own there, buddy.” Raphael wrinkled his beak with distaste as April clambered back onto his shell, winding her arms around his shoulders. “There’s just something not right about turtles in cages, y’know?”

“You’ve got a point.” 

“Come on guys.” Donatello jumped, landing lightly as a leaf on the ground and taking off at a dead run. “Follow me!”

Raphael teetered on the edge of the arch for a moment. “You ready?”

April squeezed her eyes shut. “Just go, okay?”

“You got it.”

An instant later, Raphael hit the ground, hastily detangling himself from April’s arms as he tore after his brothers. After barely a moment to re-orient herself, April sprinted after them, following their lengthening shadows into the zoo.

* * *

The hole in the ground was as black as pitch, totally impossible to see into in the dark. April frowned, still holding the tarp that had covered it, as Leonardo stood at the lip of the chasm, tapping his beak thoughtfully as he looked into the pit.

“These Dragons must have dug their way up from their underground base,” he mused. “We can assume that, since the theft, the Technodrome has not moved, correct?”

Donatello nodded. “Or if it has, not far. We can easily track it from here. But there is a good chance that it’s still down there.”

Raphael nodded, pulling off his fedora and stripping off his trenchcoat. “Great. Let’s get cracking then, shall we?”

“Hold on.” Leonardo held out a hand as he turned to his brothers, all crowded within the small area enclosed by police tape. “We can’t just rush down there without a plan.”

“What plan? We break in, we grab April’s friend, we break out! Maybe knock some bot-heads in the process.” Raphael shrugged. “What else do we need?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Leonardo argued. “This is the Shredder. Master Splinter’s old enemy. He is cunning, powerful. He has proven that to us already.”

“Sure, but there’s only one of him, and four of us,” Michelangelo pointed out, puffing his chest out.

“Five of us, you mean,” April corrected, stepping forward.

The turtles turned. “Absolutely not,” Leonardo said firmly. “You will wait for us here, in case there’s a cave in.”

“We can handle ourselves in the sewers,” Raphael pointed out. “ _ You _ can’t.”

“We don’t know if we can protect you down there,” Donatello explained. “You could be hurt!”

“And Spike could be killed,” April snapped. “She could be dead already for all I know!” She planted her hands on her hips, looking Leonardo square in the eye. “We’ve been over this before.”

Leonardo studied her, deep in thought. April stared back, a determined set to her chin.

“She’s in danger, and it’s my fault,” she said, quietly, but firmly. “I’m coming with you.”

“Can’t you stay up here and get your story?” Leonardo asked. “Call your crew and wait for us to return?”

April shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. “Not unless you want this place crawling with the media when you come back, which is what I thought you were trying to avoid.”

She knew for a fact she looked more confident than she felt. Even though her feet were on solid ground, and she wasn’t swinging on structures, clinging to the backs of shells, her stomach was flipping. She cleared her throat, raising her pointed chin. “And more importantly, Spike’s my friend. I’m not just going to wait for you to bring her back.”

Her tone was absolutely final, but she was getting the feeling that wouldn’t stop Leonardo if he really wanted her to stay. She wondered what ‘drastic measures’ looked like coming from trained ninja teenagers.

Still, she held Leonardo’s gaze as steadily as she could, willing him to change his mind. Even if he didn’t relent, she had no intentions of sitting on the surface in the dark, cold emptiness.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke a word. Finally, Leonardo sighed, bowing his head.

“Very well, April. You may accompany us, if you promise to listen to us and be careful.”

“Geez, Leonardo, you sound like a mother,” Raphael snorted. He jerked his thumb at the hole in the ground, now indistinguishable from the darkness surrounding them. “Are we gonna get going or what?”

“Yeah!” Michelangelo exclaimed, already bounding towards the hole. He dove, feet first, into the pit, hollering an enthusiastic:  _ “Cowabunga!”  _ that echoed upwards.

“Michelangelo!” Donatello cried, peering into the hole. “Wait for us!”

“Too late,” Raphael said cheerfully. He dove after his brother, whooping as he disappeared into the black hole.

Leonardo sighed, shaking his head with frustration at his brothers. He turned his shell to April. “Hold on, April.”

April stepped towards the lip of the hole, brushing past the blue-clad ninja. “No thanks, Leonardo. I’ve jumped into the sewers before, remember?” She swallowed, looking down at the pit. 

_ Here goes nothing. _

She closed her eyes, though it hardly made a difference, and took a step into thin air.

* * *

April hit the ground with an unceremonious  _ thud,  _ rolling to a halt by the discarded trenchcoat at Michelangelo’s feet. The impact knocked the wind out of her, leaving her reeling, gasping for air as she struggled to her hands and knees in the crumbled earth underneath her. She frowned as her fingers brushed over arrangements of uniformly raised bumps at her feet.

Her eyes, blind in the sudden dark, widened with realization.

They were standing in monstrously huge tread marks.

“Uh, Leonardo?” Michelangelo called. “You might wanna come take a look at this.” 

April felt, rather than saw, the other two turtles land on either side of her as she staggered to her feet, sucking in a breath of musty air. They weren’t in the sewers, she realized. They were inside one of the new tunnels this structure had drilled.

She blinked rapidly, straining her eyes to adjust to the darkness as she took a step forward. “What is it?”

A shape crouched before her, very still as it looked at something, nestled into one of the treadmarks. “It’s Master Splinter’s walking stick.” Leonardo’s voice was solemn, tight.

“He’s never without it,” Donatello added. “Do you think…” his voice trailed off.

“He must be in trouble.” Leonardo stood, holding the stick in his hands as he turned to face the group. April’s vision had adjusted enough that she could make out the pensive movement of his muscles, the too-controlled breathing. “He must have found this Technodrome.”

“Then the Shredder has him,” Raphael growled. He reached for his sais, baring his teeth. 

“Let’s go get him!” Michelangelo cried. He turned around, glancing in either direction in the tunnel. “Which way did they go?”

_ “This way, my dear turtles.” _

The voice seemed to erupt out of the tunnel walls, booming louder than April thought possible. She winced, reaching up to cover her ears as she swung around, attempting to figure out where the voice was coming from.

“It’s an artificially amplified voice!” Donatello exclaimed over the echo. “There must be a surveillance system in here!” He nodded at Raphael. “See? Not a bad idea!”

“Now’s not the time,” Leonardo said sharply. He drew his swords, craning his neck to look at the tunnel ceiling. “Who are you and what have you done with our master?”

_ “All in good time, turtles. Should you ever wish to see your master again, you must come to me, just like he did. And as for you, Ms. O’Neil, you too are welcome. I have something that may interest you, as well.” _

_ The voice from the rooftop. _

April bit her lip, reaching her arm out to grab Donatello’s shoulder, clenching her fingers around the strap for his bo-staff. “That’s him,” she murmured. “That’s the Shredder.” Her grip tightened, knuckles whitening.

“C’mon, guys! What’re we waiting for?!” Michelangelo shouted, drawing his nunchucks.

Leonardo’s face was grim, the line to his beak hard. “April-”

“Don’t even think about telling me to stay here,” April said sharply, letting go of Donatello’s strap.

“I wasn’t going to. I was going to tell you to stay close.” Leonardo’s voice was low, numb, dangerous. He gestured with one of his katana blade down the tunnel. “This way. I have a feeling it won’t be far.”

“You realize, of course, that this is a trap?” Donatello inquired as Leonardo started off down the underground path, following the treadmarks.

“Of course.” Leonardo’s pace didn’t waver as he led the group steadily down into the darkness. “But what choice do we have?”


	8. Cell Break

April craned her neck as she stared upward at the colossal metal sphere. It’s top, a dome that resembled an eye, scraped the top of the tunnel. The treads, each the size of a bus, were still, the entire structure apparently dormant. It could have been a deserted hull but for the ominous hum that seemed to emanate from it, and the open door situated in the bottom of the sphere, between the two treads. A ramp extended from it, leading up to the passageway into the bright light, illuminating the entire tunnel.

The shining glow hurt April’s eyes, now used to the dark. She squinted, standing, transfixed, at the foot of the ramp.

At her side, Donatello took a tentative step forward. “To build a mobile structure of this size,” he began, a dazzled expression on his face. He paused, shaking his head. “Incredible.”

“Admire it after we get our master back,” Leonardo said, looking up at the ramp.

_ And Spike. _

The words were on the tip of April’s tongue, choked back by the icy cold hand that wrapped around her heart and throat. 

This was it. The lion’s den. The belly of the beast. The lair of the Shredder.

The place that Spike had been imprisoned in for days.

April’s heart hammered in her chest. She sucked in a breath, willing her hands to stop shaking, trying to shake the thought that they were being led, like lambs to a slaughter. Shredder knew they were coming. He was ready for them.

“You okay?” Michelangelo asked from behind her.

April nodded, raising her chin, hoping the non-verbal lie looked more convincing than it felt. She straightened her shoulders. “I’m fine. Just a little…” her voice trailed off as she tried to think of a word besides  _ terrified.  _ She shook her head, taking a shaky step forward. No matter what was waiting for them inside the Technodrome, there was no time for hesitation. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Alright!” Michelangelo raised his nunchucks, leaping forward onto the ramp.

“For Splinter!” Raphael cried, brandishing his sais.

“Be careful, guys,” Leonardo said, eyeing the entrance. “We have no idea what the Shredder has in store for us in there.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be careful.” Donatello drew his bo-staff, stepping in front of April. “April, stay behind me. There could be trouble.”

Silently, April followed him up the ramp, heart pounding in her throat as they neared the doorway, the jaws to what was, almost certainly, a trap.

* * *

The door was finally beginning to give.

Spike’s shoulder burned, bruised from impact. Her thin lips stretched back over her blood-stained teeth, lungs and muscles throbbing. The broken thread from the torn stitches on her face hung down, brushing against her jawline as she pulled back, slamming her booted foot into the peeling edge of the door, once, twice, a third time.

As she worked, she listened. 

It hadn’t taken long for Hamato Yoshi to explain that the Shredder’s story wasn’t the truth. There were no spies within the Foot clan, no danger of an overthrow. Just a powerful student who wanted to be better than his master.

“I figured the scum was lyin’,” she grunted, leaning back to kick at the door again. “‘T least ‘bout a few things.”

_ “And yet, you still offered your cooperation.”  _ It wasn’t an accusation, but still there was a hidden question in those words.

“Didn’t have much of a choice. Didn’t matter to me why he was doin’ any of it.” Spike paused for a second, chest and shoulders heaving as she sucked in air. The leather jacket lay, crumpled in the corner of the cell. Her bare, muscular arms were streaked with sweat, the salty liquid burning where it ran into the slowly-healing cuts from her bout with Bebop and Rocksteady. “Jus’ one question. ‘F he got ya kicked out, why bother chasin’ y’down in the first place?”

The old master was silent for a minute.

_ “I do not know. Perhaps the old hatred still burns within him, unable to be satisfied with his victory as it is. Perhaps he will never be satisfied without the total destruction of those who stood up to his tyranny.” _

“Whatever his reason is, he’s gonna pay for draggin’ April into this,” Spike growled.

Replacing the despair that had turned her bones to lead was a feeling far deeper and greater than the pain in her limbs, a feeling that she knew well:

Rage.

Rage at the Shredder, at the Purple Dragons, for putting April in danger. Fury at herself for not finding a way out sooner. Rage that burned in her chest, seething so intensely that it wouldn’t let her body stop moving.

The backs of her eyes burned, vision blurry as her muscles bunched, charged with adrenaline thundering through her veins, dulling her nerves, as she backed up as far as she could in the tiny cell, steeling herself for another charge.

Her shoulder burst through the doorway, the metal groaning as it sheared away from the wall, tearing outward. She stepped back, immediately reaching for the hole she’d made, grasping the edges and pulling with all her might, widening the hole as she grunted, muscles straining, blood-caked boots slipping on the floor. 

With another shrieking, groaning noise, the silver door peeled back far enough for her to squeeze her bulky frame through into the familiar bright whiteness outside.

Her eyes widened, a triumphant blaze lighting her eyes. She turned reaching for her jacket, and the tape inside. She folded it over her forearm, stepping one leg through the hole, crouching and ducking her head to hurridely shove her upper body through. She grimaced as the splintered metal scraped her arms, tearing more rips in her jeans as she burst into the hallway, breathing hard.

There wasn’t even a moment to celebrate the victory. 

She turned, glancing up and down the empty hallway, before her eyes fixed on the identical door directly next to the one she’d just destroyed, the cell holding her fellow prisoner, Hamato Yoshi.

She stepped towards the keypad mounted on the side, frowning with concentration as she struggled to remember the order the Shredder had tapped the numbers in, hoping the combination was the same.

_ 1...7 _

The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end, every sense on alert. Every nerve was wound tight, screaming at her to pick up the pace. She gritted her teeth.

_ 9...1 _

As her thumb pressed in the final number, she jerked back, eyes fixed on the door as it slid open.

She’d barely given a thought to the appearance of Hamato Yoshi, the man the Shredder had tried, and failed, to kill with his mutagen. Her only thought was that, if what he said was true, Spike owed him. Freeing him was out of no sense of justice or concern for taking sides in the Shredder’s private little war.

No. She had to free him for a far simpler reason: he had helped April. For that, she owed him. Freeing him was merely a matter of repayment.

As the door slid open, it occurred to her that she hadn’t considered whether to expect a man or a monster.

What she got was neither.

Inside the cramped silver cell, clad in a tattered red robe, was a humanoid brown rat. He sat, cross-legged, on the metallic floor, looking up at her with an expression of utter calm. 

He rose slowly, paws scratching at the metal floor, tail flicking behind him. He stood at perhaps Spike’s chest, seeming relatively harmless after the mutants the Shredder had just recently created. The dangerous warrior that the Shredder had described seemed incongruous with the figure before her. 

Spike unfolded the jacket over her arm, shrugging it on as she skeptically looked the rat up and down. 

One of his whiskers twitched. He cocked his head, studying her with wise eyes. “You are injured.”

Spike rolled her broad shoulders in a shrug, fighting a wince. “I’ll worry ‘bout it once we’re outta here,” she grunted. She jerked her head, keeping her eyes off of the mutant. “C’mon. I know where Shredder’s arsenal is. We grab a few weapons an’ then we get outta here.”

Hamato Yoshi nodded, stepping out of the cell, into the hallway. “Very well. Lead the way.”

He had barely finished speaking when the alarms started.

* * *

  
The Foot soldiers were upon them instantly, accompanied by an ear-bleeding, screeching siren.

The robotic ninjas had swarmed from every entrance down the long, white entry hallway as the ramp disappeared, and the door closed behind April and the turtles. No way out. Nowhere to go but through the mechanical army before them. At first, there had been six, then twelve. Every time the turtles cut a wave down, another, stronger wave followed. Each time, the doors slammed shut behind the new soldiers, preventing any escape. They were trapped, bottlenecked, and they couldn’t hold out much longer.

“You get the feeling someone has it in for us?” Michelangelo panted, ducking out of the way of a katana slash.

“Occasionally,” Donatello wheezed, blocking a kama’s swing with his bo-staff. “Leonardo, we can’t keep this up forever! What do we do?”

“Keep fighting!” Raphael hollered, digging his sai into the chest of one of the ninja. “We don’t have another choice!”

“I didn’t ask  _ you, _ Raphael!”

“Raphael’s right,” Leonardo grunted, yanking his katana back out of the winding grip of a chain. “There is no way out. We must fight on!”

April pressed back against the wall, shrinking as small as she could. She inched down the hallway, further away from the fighting, heart pounding in her throat, palms clammy, wincing at the wailing sirens, still screaming from all sides. She kicked through dismantled mechanical parts of robots, stepping down the hallway, trying to stay out of the way. Her hand grazed a rougher part of the wall, and she froze, turning her head to look at it.

She had reached one of the doors further down the hallway.

Her sharp eyes widened and she spun around, ducking to avoid a flying robotic arm, wincing at the noise of the fight melding with the shrieking alarm. Her sharp eyes took in the corners of the door, searching fruitlessly for a knob or a handle.

_ Nothing. _

April frowned, sliding her palms around the edges of the doorway as high as she could reach before crouching to inspect the bottom. Her gaze traveled the length of the door again, as carefully as she could manage.

_ There. _

Mounted on the side of the door was what looked like a calculator. April shot to her feet, tracing her manicured fingernails over the sides of the panel. It had to be the way in, or more accurately, the way out of the trap.

Her fingers hovered helplessly over the keypad as her mind raced. With no passcode, the panel was as good as useless.

To her, anyway.

She whirled, eyes lighting up as she shouted over the din back down the hallway. “Donatello! I think I found a way out! I just need a combination!”

Donatello swept the legs out from under another ninja, driving his staff through its head. He chanced a glance in April’s direction as sparks flew from the felled robot. His eyes widened. “Perfect!” His face fell just as quickly as it had brightened. “But it could take hours to crack that!”

“Try fifteen seconds, chum!” Raphael cried, pointing down the hallway with one of his sais. “More on the way!”

April swung back around, watching as the furthermost doors down the hall slid open, parting to allow a swarm of robotic soldiers down the hallway like a wave.

Leonardo raised his katanas, breathing hard. “Donatello,  _ can  _ you crack it?”

Donatello’s eyes hadn’t left the keypad. “I think so.” He bent down, pulling his staff from the head of the ninja at his feet, and scooping up his discarded weapon, a katana blade. “Can you hold them off on their own?”

“Guess we’ll have to,” Raphael grunted. He crouched, brandishing his sais. “Make it quick, Donatello.”

“Yeah. I’m all for exercise, but this is too much of a workout, even for me,” Michelangelo panted.

“I’ll try.” Donatello leapt over the fallen robots, darting to April’s side, raising the sword he’d snatched and bringing it down on the panel, prying the pad off and revealing the wires underneath. He dropped the sword at his feet, shoving the bo-staff back into the sheath on his shell as he knelt, inspecting the wires.

April stepped towards him, leaning over his shoulder. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Not unless you have any idea how to pick an electronic lock.” Donatello glanced up. “You can help watch my shell, though.”

“Huh?”

“My back.”

“Oh.” April bent down, scooping up the katana, holding it in both hands awkwardly as she faced away from the door. The weapon felt alien in her hands, unnatural as she raised it, holding it at her waist. Her grip tightened, white-knuckled around the handle as she froze, staring down the hallway as the ninjas rushed, with horribly precise movements, towards the cluster of turtles. She stepped back, pressing against the other side of the door, hands trembling around the handle of the unfamiliar weapon, heart still in her throat. “How long is this going to take?!” Her voice was unsteady, higher pitched than usual.

“I don’t know, I’ve never done this before!”

“Keep them away from Donatello!” Leonardo cried, surging forward to meet the wave of enemies in the middle. Raphael plunged ahead beside him, teeth bared, sais flashing in and out of the oncoming army. Michelangelo leapt over him, hollering, nunchucks whirling, forcing ninja out of his way as he landed.

One of the robots stumbled out of Michelangelo’s path, righting itself a foot from April’s position. She barely even thought, her arms already moving, thrusting the blade through the shoulder and part of the chest of the machine, jolting as the sword struck metal. The shriek of the machinery was drowned out amongst the horrific alarms still blaring, making her head ring. Her arms ached with the force as she pushed the sword through, then yanked it out, gasping as the robot collapsed, arms and legs still working, whirring and clanking.

“Now, Donatello!” Raphael’s voice rose above the fight, invisible under a cluster of Foot robots.

“I think I’ve got it!” Donatello held up two wires before him, determination and uncertainty warring for the dominant expression on his face. “Here goes nothing!”

He squeezed his eyes shut, and thrust the wires together.

* * *

Spike’s hands were shaking so hard, she could barely punch in the code for the Shredder’s arenal. 

She took a step back, glancing up and down the hallway as the door slid open, heart hammering in her chest. The sirens hadn’t stopped wailing, a constant reminder that any second, the Shredder’s forces would be on top of them. Since Spike had smashed through her cell wall, she’d been in plain view of the security cameras set up along the hallways. 

It was only a matter of time before the Foot robots caught up to them. They had to move fast.

Behind her, the rat-mutant craned his neck, surveying the hallway as well. “I do not believe this attention is meant for us,” he murmured.

Spike turned her head, glancing at Yoshi over her shoulder. “Who else’d it be for? We broke out. ‘Less Shredder just figures we’ve got no chance of gettin’ outta here.”

“While Oruku Saki may be arrogant, I do not believe he would be so foolish as to allow us to wander. It is possible something else has his attention.” Yoshi’s ears twitched as he glanced meaningfully towards the open doorway to the armory. “Still, I believe it best if we hurry.”

Spike nodded, giving the hallway one last sweep before stepping forward, into the Shredder’s arsenal.

The battalion of Foot robots were gone, leaving an unsettling emptiness in the space they would have filled. The walls were emptier than they had been before, devoid of at least half of the weapons that had been hanging there before.

Warning bells rang out in the back of Spike’s head, almost as loud as the sirens still blaring through the Technodrome’s bare hallways. Her gut churned, a constant reminder that they weren’t out of danger yet. Something had happened, but the more she thought about it, the more Yoshi’s words sounded right.

Whatever was going on, the Shredder’s forces were somewhere else.

At the very least, whatever was keeping his attention was a good distraction.

Spike raised her gaze, eyes roving over the walls full of weapons, skipping over the swords, chains, fans, nunchucks, staffs and sais, lighting on the kanabō that had been taken from her before she’d been locked up. She stepped into the room, reaching out with one hand to wrap around the weapon’s handle, swinging it off of the pegs.

Unarmed, in her condition, she didn’t stand a chance in a fight if the Shredder’s forces  _ did  _ catch up to them. Armed, her odds weren’t much better.

Still, it was better than nothing.

Spike gripped the kanabō, feeling the comfortable weight. Her mouth set in a hard, grim line as she turned, resting the kanabō over her right shoulder, looking at the rat-mutant in the hall. “Y’ want anythin’?”

Yoshi shook his head. “Our best chance is to escape using speed and stealth. We are greatly outnumbered. Fighting will get us nowhere.”

Spike ducked back through the doorway, eyeing the rat skeptically. “Maybe,” she rumbled. “Sure feel better with a weapon, though. C’mon.”

She turned, starting to lope down the hallway, away from the arsenal. The dull  _ thud  _ of her boots almost swallowed up the thinner sound of Yoshi’s claws on the floor behind her, just a tad slower, both noises nearly drowned by the sirens.

“What do we do now?”

“We find an exit, blow this joint, an’ get to April before she tries anythin’ stupid,” Spike grunted. “We got the passcode. All we need is the right door.” 

She glanced down the hallway, scowling.

There were hundreds of doors. It would take hours for them to test them all, and a miracle for the Shredder’s robots to miss them doing it. The odds of them making it out were slim.

That was the last thought she had before the doors started to open.

All down the hallway, every door yawned open, revealing empty rooms as far as she could see. Any second, she expected Foot soldiers to come pouring out of a doorway, ready to cut her down here, after all this effort.

Spike screeched to a halt, pale as salt, pupils dilating. Her blood rushed, ice cold, lungs constricting as she stared back down the hallway, frantically whirling. At her back, Yoshi stopped as well, tail twitching.

“I wonder what this is about,” he mused quietly. 

Spike raised her chin, shaking the fringe of coarse, blood-encrusted hair out of her eyes. She turned around, glancing at Yoshi, hardening her features as she tightened her grip on the weapon over her shoulder. Her gut was twisting, instincts screaming that they were in danger. “C’mon. We’ve gotta get outta here,” she rumbled hoarsely. 

“Great idea, Sanchez.” 

The voice came from behind her, thick and low, stopping Spike cold. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Yoshi, lowering his head as he studied the newcomer. He shifted, eyeing Spike as her jaw ground, muscles bunching.

Her free fist clenched at her side as she turned back around, slowly, leather creaking.

The figure at the end of the hall held a katana blade loosely in his left hand, dried blood coating his right shoulder. His right jawline bore twin vertical marks, left by the same weapon that had marred Spike’s own face. The dried blood on his shoulder only slightly obscured the tattoo there:

The mark of the Purple Dragon.

Spike’s lip curled in a snarl.

“Hun.”

* * *

Donatello shot to his feet, reaching behind him to grab his bo-staff as the door before them slid open. “Got it!”

“That ain’t all you got! Look!” Raphael pointed down the hallway with his sai. “What’d you do, Donatello?!”

Every door as far as the eye could see slowly gaped open. Uncountable numbers of Foot soldiers spilled out, weapons raised, jerkily marching down the long, slim bottleneck.

“I must have tripped the door controls for the entire Technodrome,” Donatello mused sheepishly. He turned, hollering back towards his brothers. “Come on! Hurry!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice, dude!” Michelangelo cried, leaping over the head of a Foot soldier. He dove into a roll, smoothly springing up beside Donatello, turning to face the onslaught of enemies, nunchucks tucked at his side.

“You first, April.” Donatello twirled his staff, lining up to strike at the chest-panel of a Foot robot that got too close. “We’ll be right behind you!”

He didn’t have to tell  _ her  _ twice, either.

April turned, plunging through the open doorway, katana clutched tightly in her right hand. She turned her head, swinging her head wildly from either side, trying to see everything at once. 

She was standing in another long hallway identical to the one they had just left, minus the oncoming horde of robotic soldiers. Lining the walls were more open doors, revealing cavernous blackness in each room.

April took another step into the hallway as the four turtles tumbled in behind her. Leonardo backed in, swords at the ready, facing the Foot soldiers as he pressed into the hallway.

  
“Can’t you get the doors closed again?” he barked.

“Sorry, Leonardo, I think I fried the system,” Donatello shouted back, fumbling with the panel mounted on the other side of the door. “I might be able to get this one closed again, but that’d still leave all the other doors in the Technodrome wide open! At best, we’d stall them-”

_ “Then stall them!”  _ Raphael bellowed. He turned, adjusting his grip on his sais as he wedged himself into the doorway beside Leonardo, slicing his sai down through a Foot robot’s head.

“Right on, just hurry it up!” Michelangelo added, shouldering in behind his brothers. “I’ll be the second line of defense!”

April stepped up to Donatello’s shoulder, peering over his shell to stare with bewilderment at the mass of wiring embedded into the rectangular metal panel. Donatello’s seemingly clumsy fingers danced over the wires, knotting them together and prying them apart in seconds.

“Done!” he shouted, stepping back. Leonardo and Raphael leapt backward just in time as the door slammed shut between them and the Foot soldiers on the other side. In between the panels of the door, a lone metallic arm jutted, unable to break through, unable to pull back.

“Good job,” Leonardo huffed, turning around. He glanced down the slightly curved corridor, then up at the ceiling. “Cameras,” he noted quietly.

“Do you want me to disable them?” Donatello asked, following his gaze.

“We don’t have time for this!” April burst out. “The Shredder already knows we’re  _ in  _ here! What good is that going to do?”

“It might help if he doesn’t know  _ exactly  _ where we are, ever think of that one, sister?” Raphael retorted. “I’m not fond of the wait either, but-”

“April’s right,” Michelangelo interrupted, spinning one nunchuck absently. “I mean, look at all those cameras, man. It’d take forever to take down every single one of ‘em!”

Leonardo looked to Donatello. “Any way you could do what you did with the doors, shut them all off at once?”

Donatello shrugged, rubbing the back of his scaly head. “That was an accident. I have no idea if I’d be able to do it again, or how much time it would take.”

April threw her hands in the air. “Spike could be dead by then!”

“She could be dead  _ already _ ,” Raphael pointed out.

April rounded on him, a red flush creeping up her face as her heart rate climbed. “You don’t know that!” she exploded.

Raphael shrugged one shoulder. “No, but it’s a possibility.”

“Cool it, Raphael,” Leonardo said sharply. “I’m afraid April’s right. We don’t have time to  _ rewire  _ the cameras.” He glanced meaningfully at Donatello.

The purple-masked turtle’s eyes widened, a grin plastered across his beak. “Right!” He reached into a pouch in his belt, removing a handful of small, sharp objects. “Everybody duck!” He drew his arm back, eyeing one of the cameras before thrusting his arm forward, one of the objects clutched between his fingers.

April spun on her heel, squinting as she followed the trajectory of the throw, eyes widening abruptly as it embedded into the camera.

“Wait for it,” Donatello murmured, stepping back.

An instant later, the camera exploded with a roaring  _ boom.  _ April’s hands flew over her ears a second too late, eyes widening as the flaming wreckage fell with a  _ crash  _ to the hall floor.

“That’s one,” Donatello said. He opened his palm, revealing the remainder of the tiny explosives. “Unfortunately, I don’t have enough shurikens to take out every camera.”

“That’s fine! We’ll be so fast, they won’t have time to track us!” Michelangelo turned, already half bounding down the hallway. “Come on guys!”

The other three turtles burst into a light run, April scrambling to keep up behind them. She craned her neck, gaze sweeping the hallway, traveling from doorway to doorway. Spike could be in any one of those rooms, hurt, or worse.

The thought spurred her legs to move, striding quickly down the hallway, as she continued to glance from room to room, heart in her throat, palms slick on the katana handle.

Each room was identical: small, featureless, and most importantly, empty. Every last door seemed a disappointment, another nail in the coffin-

_ No, don’t think about that! _

Raphael’s words echoed louder with every step, forcing their way into her head.  _ She could be dead already. _

April shook her head, mind racing as she looked down the long corridor, full of open doors, thin eyebrows drawing together. She blocked out the sound of the alarms, the nose of the turtles’s chatter, eyes darting between identical cells on either side as she followed the turtles around the rounded corner of the hall.

She peered ahead, over the heads of the turtles’, straining to see further down the corridor, sharp eyes training over each door as quickly as she could manage, only half concentrating on keeping up with the turtles.

Frustration clouded her thoughts, a crushing sense of urgency forcing her to glance back over the doorways again, looking for something she’d missed. Every room was the same, doors agape revealing a small featureless cell. The compound was so structurally identical that April would have no idea if they were making any progress if it weren’t for the closed door behind them, getting further and further away.

April bit her lower lip as they passed indistinguishable walls and entryways, triple checking ahead one more time-

“Wait!”

Without thinking, she burst into a run, sprinting down the corridor, sharp eyes fixed on one particular door, the only break in the identical pattern as far as the eye could see, pushing past Donatello.

“Hey! Where are you going?” he cried.

April barely heard him, eyes fixed on the doorway just past Michelangelo. A  _ different  _ doorway.

One cell door  _ hadn’t  _ opened all the way. It was stuck, a gap in the center where the doors would have met.

She staggered to a halt, bracing a hand on the doorway as she stared at the shorn metal, torn apart, preventing the doors from closing all the way. The doors had been almost peeled apart, torn open from the inside.

April stared through the hole, searching the floor, the walls, taking in the blood-smears on the smooth metal surface, heart climbing in her throat, choking out any attempt to speak. She was vaguely aware of Leonardo’s presence behind her, silently taking in the damaged cell himself.

Hope and despair battled in her chest, fighting for control as April shook her head, fighting the hot tears threatening to overflow. She closed her eyes, biting down harder on her lower lip. She took a deep breath, pushing herself away from the doorway.

“She’s still here,” she murmured. She turned, looking at Leonardo. “She has to be.”

Leonardo nodded wordlessly. “If she is, we will find her.” He reached up, placing a hand on April’s shoulder. “But we don’t have time to worry.”

April nodded again, more forcefully this time. “You’re right. Let’s keep moving.”

“I think this might be a prison cell block,” Donatello mused, scrutinizing the cell beside them. He glanced up at April. “If that’s the case, your friend should be close.”

“Hey, guys!” Michelangelo called. He turned, looking back at them from where he stood, several feet ahead, staring through a doorway. “I found another hallway!”

“Great, Michelangelo. Are you doing the weather next?” Raphael snapped.

“No, guys, listen!” Michelangelo pointed down the new hallway, widening his eyes. “I found Master Splinter!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm sorry this is so late! School and the whole quarantine thing have been really rough (and so has Camp NaNo), so it took me a little longer to get this one written. Please let me know what you think in a review, it really helps me write, and I hope to see you all in the next chapter! Stay healthy!


	9. Reunion

Spike stepped in front of the old rat without even thinking, hands clenching around the kanabō handle.

“Jus’ get out, Hun,” she growled. “‘Fore y’do somethin’ we both regret.”

“In yer shape?” Hun threw back his head, an ugly laugh tearing its way out of his ravaged throat. He winced, rolling his shoulders. “C’mon, Sanchez. Y’re as good as dead.” He pointed the blade in his hands at her, a burning hatred in his eyes. “Y’betrayed the Dragons. Fer that, I’m gonna hafta kill ya.”

“Go ahead an’ try, y’rotten second-rate slimeball,” Spike snarled. She raised the kanabō. “Bring it on.”

Hun slowly brought his other hand to grip around the katana handle. There was no windup, no pause.

The second he raised the sword, he charged.

Spike roared, bringing the kanabō up to meet him.

Pain wracked its way up her arms as she swept the heavy club in an arc, blocking the downward stroke of the sword and shoving it aside, wrenching her shoulders. She planted her right foot, raising her left boot to slam into Hun’s knee. He bellowed, staggering, as Spike brought her elbow up to crush into his damaged chin.

Hun’s stolen katana clattered to the floor as he reached up, hand almost a claw as it tangled into Spike’s matted hair, yanking her head down to meet his.

_ Crack! _

Blood streamed afresh from Spike’s nose as she swore, dropping the kanabō to reach up, clutching at her face with one hand, closing her right hand into a fist. She swung backhanded, unable to aim through fuzzy vision, catching Hun across the other side of his jaw.

Spike took a step backwards, kicking the katana blade behind her, glancing over her shoulder as best she could through swollen eyes. “ _ Go! _ ” she shouted thickly. “Get outta here!”

Hamato Yoshi reached down, paws clasping around the handle. “A ninja does not leave his allies behind,” he said calmly. “Nor does he leave the wounded to fight his battles for him.”

“Ain’t that touchin’,” Hun barked, lunging, arms around Spike’s waist as he drove her back into the wall.

Spike’s head jerked back, cracking off of the wall. She raised both arms, clasping both hands together and bringing them down, smashing all her force onto Hun’s spine before gripping around his torso, heaving his body into the air with all her might. She hauled back, forcing herself to breathe through her nose as she crushed his back to the wall, dropping him off to the side as his grip on her waist broke.

Yoshi was on him in a flash, the hilt of the sword snapping down into the side of Hun’s jaw. The Purple Dragon jerked, then fell still. The sword twirled in his paws as he spun, his back to Spike, peering down the hallway. He turned, a fierce look in his eyes. “The Shredder’s forces. They are coming.”

Spike took a staggered step, reaching down to grab the kanabō, dropping to one knee as her balance failed her. The room was spinning, shaking around her, the sirens like needles in her ears. Her blood was pooling under her, oozing. Her knees were slipping in it, sliding as she fought to stay upright.

Her stomach was churning, and a second later, it was empty, bile mixed with blood spilling onto the floor. She couldn’t form a single thought, adrenalin fogging every nerve.

Yoshi’s paw appeared in front of her. She raised her head blearily, forcing herself to focus on his features. “Jus’ get outta here,” she rasped. “Jus’ get out, keep April away from here-”

“You are not going to die here!” The old rat’s voice was firm, stern, filled with more quiet power than she had thought he was capable of. “April has not given up on you. You must not give up on her!”

The words sparked new life in her joints and muscles, one last burst as the rush of blood, boiling hot, warmed her body.

_ April still needed her.  _

She couldn’t fail her again.

Spike heaved a breath, bracing her muscles. She wiped her chin and mouth with the back of her hand as she staggered to her feet, the rat holding her steady with surprising strength. She could barely see in front of her, her mind full of April’s panicked face and voice in the alley, in the sewers.

Spike leaned on the kanabō, forcing her legs to move, boots digging in, planting her feet with each step.

“Hurry, child, they are on the move.”

Another time, Spike may have taken offense at being called  _ child.  _ Today, however, she ignored it, an icy chill shooting through her as she raised her head, breathing heavily through her mouth, unable to hear anything but the awful, shrieking sirens that pierced her skull.

A second later, the sirens stopped, leaving an empty, equally loud silence in its place.

Yoshi rocked back, whiskers twitching as he halted. Spike stopped with him.

“Y’hear somethin’?”

Yoshi nodded

“They are here,” he murmured.

As he spoke, a wave of Foot soldiers poured out of the open doorways ahead and behind, circling in mechanical movements. Weapons raised, gleaming bright in the blinding overhead light, joints whirring and clicking as they settled into battle-stances. 

_ Trapped. _

* * *

The silence was eerie, breaking off as Michelangelo finished, lowering his hand. At another time, April might have questioned the quiet.

Now, she barely noticed.

April and Leonardo were at Michelangelo's side in an instant, a split second before the other two turtles.

“Master?!” Worry tinted Leonardo’s ordinarily calm voice as he stared down the hallway. “Master Splinter!”

April could barely focus her vision on the tangled, teeming mass in the center of the corridor, a knot of writhing black. The floor of the hallway was cluttered with shards of metal, the shriek of tearing machinery rising over the sounds of shouting, grunting, clanging.

“Where? Where is he?” Donatello cried, arriving at April’s elbow. He leaned forward, looking down the hallway.

“I saw him! I saw his robe!” Michelangelo pointed again. “Look! Between their legs!”

April stared at the ground, fighting to catch a glimpse of tail, of red robe, of brown fur. “I don’t see him!” She took a step forward, only to be blocked by Raphael’s muscular arm.

“You stay put. Let the professionals handle this.” Raphael drew a sai, setting his beak. “You ready, guys?”

“Raphael, wait!” Leonardo held out a hand, forehead wrinkled in thought. “We need a plan-”

“Hang on, Sensei!” Michelangelo cried.  _ “Cowabunga!” _

“Michelangelo, no!”

Too late. Michelangelo dove into the fray, nunchucks swinging, Raphael on his heels.

Leonardo groaned. “They never listen.”

Donatello drew his bo-staff hesitantly, shrugging. “Sorry, Leonardo.”

April squinted, catching a flash of swift, smooth movement underneath the swarm of robotic ninja. Her heart jumped into her throat. “There! He’s in the middle!” She pointed, rising on her toes, stomach flipping. “There he is!”

Leonardo’s katanas were out in a flash, gleaming in the too-bright light as he leapt forward. “Master!”

Donatello turned, glancing at April. “Stay here,” he said. An instant later, he too was gone, somersaulting over Leonardo’s head, bo-staff extended. As he landed, he drove the staff through the head of a Foot soldier.

The robot fell. All down the hall, robots crashed into metallic pieces, crumbling and clattering onto the metallic floor, ringing out and echoing throughout the narrow corridor. The clang of metal, combined with the exuberant war-cries of the turtles, rang in April’s ears, louder than the now-missing siren had.

April stepped forward, re-adjusting her grip on the katana. Her sharp eyes darted over the tangled knot in the center of the hallway as Leonardo’s katanas brought another ninja to its knees, tossing it to the ground behind him. 

As he did, a large figure, burst outward through the gap in the tight-knit horde, swinging an ugly bat-like weapon, roaring, face twisted in an inhuman mask of rage and pain.

Recognition flashed through April’s mind faster than thought, turning her blood to ice as a mixture of horror and relief flooded her, locking her in place and turning her blood cold.

Her knees buckled.

The katana slipped from her grasp. She gasped for air, words stuck like a lump in her throat.

_ “Spike?!” _

* * *

At first, she’d thought it was her imagination, or the result of her concussion.

Her mind had been so focused on April that it hardly seemed surprising to hear her voice. After two days of worry, of panic, of fear for her, it was natural to hear her, echoing amongst the carnage, the roar in her ears.

And then it happened again.

** _“Spike!”_ **

Spike paused, chest heaving, craning her neck to see over the fray as the Foot soldier in front of her collapsed to the ground in pieces.

_ No. _

She lurched forward, staring wildly, torn between hope and dread as April’s familiar clear, high voice cut the air again, calling her name -

** _No. Not here._ **

Standing at the end of the hallway, arms at her sides, face white as paper, stood April O’Neil.

** _She can’t be here._ **

Spike’s entire body went numb. Her vision swam, blurring the edges of the hall, empty gut churning, bile in her throat. She was barely aware of the Foot soldiers at her back, in fragments at her feet, even of Hamato Yoshi at her side, darting, lightning fast, cutting down Foot robots two or three at a time. There was noise, shouting behind her, green blurs flashing past at the edges of her vision, but they may as well have been the wind for all the attention she gave them.

Her mind was focused into one point, her worst nightmare come to life, as one thought rose to the forefront of her mind:

_ She had to get April out of here. _

She lunged forward, moving as though through water, wielding her stolen kanabō like a bat, knocking the metal head clean off of the sparking shoulders of a Foot soldier, clearing the path before her. Robot parts flew in every direction with each forceful swing. Each step brought her closer to April, and decimated another of the Shredder’s machines. Her head rang, her hearing muffled as though her ears were stuffed with cotton. 

Her heart pounded, almost in her stomach. Her gut twisted to the point of nausea. Her arms shook, overtaken not with fatigue, but with frantic energy. With fear.

She was so focused on April that she barely saw the shadow rise up behind April, big, bruised and burly.

She caught a glimpse of the bloodied tattoo of the Purple Dragons, gleaming under the bright lights as a massive arm came over April’s head, locking around her neck-

She’d forgotten about Hun.

She couldn’t think. She couldn’t  _ breathe.  _ April’s eyes were wide, frightened. Desperate, the way they’d been in the alley, before Spike had failed her.

Spike could not fail her again.

She raised her kanabō, teeth bared in a menacing glower. She lunged, itching to bash Hun’s head against the floor, to make him bleed. To make him  _ stay down- _

“Not s’fast, Sanchez,” Hun growled. His arm bulged as he flexed, pulling April further against him.

Spike stopped short, breathing hard.

“‘’Nother step closer ‘n yer pretty friend here dies, just like I oughta done in th’ first place.” He grinned, blood in his teeth as he tightened his grip on April’s throat. “No friends t’help y’now, eh, O’Neil?”

* * *

April heaved for breath, eyes wide, hands scrabbling at the arm around her neck. Her eyes watered. She rose on her toes, fighting to breathe, mind racing while Spike stopped in her tracks.

Hadn’t she been here before?

The katana lay on the ground at her feet, out of reach, out of use. The turtles and Splinter were further down the hallway, fighting their way through dozens of Foot robots.

And Spike was too careful to risk hurting April to attack.

She could feel her blood rushing, her head pounding as she twisted, wincing as she fought to tug Hun’s arm away from her throat, to turn her head so she could get air in.

The rattle of metal was the only warning before Hun’s other arm flashed up at April’s side, whipping a chain out from the end of it and lashing out, faster than April could follow.

Spike swore, wrapping her fingers around her wrist as she stumbled back, weapon clattering to the floor.

She raised her head slowly, looking past April, stoney glare boring right into Hun’s head.

_ “Let’er go, y’slimy scum-sucker,”  _ she growled.  _ “Or I swear I’ll rip your throat out.” _

Hun chuckled, a low, dark sound that rumbled against April’s back. “An’ how y’gonna do that, Sanchez?” His grip tightened. “Seems t’me I got all the cards now. Can’t beat yer way outta this one.”

April paused in her struggling, watching as Spike froze. Only now did she take in the unsteadiness of Spike’s form, the battered, bloodied remains of her face, the jagged scars torn into her cheek, the split lip, the swollen eyes, the broken nose.

She was unrecognizable. Broken. Almost...weak.

April had known her entire life that of course, Spike wasn’t indestructible. She’d worried about her fighting, getting hurt, getting  _ killed  _ even.

Somehow, as the years had passed, and Spike had just gotten harder, tougher, stronger, the fear for her safety had seemed to fade, to the point where April wondered if she’d ever really worried.

Spike didn’t  _ get  _ hurt. At least, not badly. She hurt other people, and she got stronger, tougher, harder.

Until now.

It was at this exact moment that April realized exactly  _ how  _ destructible Spike really was. And it terrified her, more than Hun’s arm around her neck.

For a moment, April was back in the alley, shrinking behind Spike’s back, listening to the threats of the Purple Dragons, helpless. Waiting for Spike to bail her out, to save her.

Hanging back, waiting for rescue had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

She had to do something.

She raised her leg, stomping her booted heel down with all her strength on the bridge of Hun’s foot.

He howled. April jerked her elbow back, smashing it into his ribs and dropping her weight all the way. Hun’s arm loosened from around her neck as he staggered, off balance, swearing.

The instant Hun’s grip slackened, April dove.

She hit the ground, landing on her shoulder and hip. She grimaced at the bruising, clumsily rolling across the floor and coming to a stop against the curved wall. 

Her head jerked up, vision falling on an object a foot from her: Spike’s weapon.

The idea struck her like a thunderbolt. She reached out, desperately clasping her slim fingers around the handle.

_ “Spike! Here!” _

She heaved, using all of her strength to roll it to Spike’s feet. 

* * *

  
April was out of the way. That was all that mattered.

Spike lunged blindly, snatching the handle of the weapon at her feet. She took a step forward, swinging with a snarl, eyes narrow, split lips twisted in a mindless rage.

The kanabō smashed into Hun’s ribcage with a  _ crunch. _

He bellowed in pain, swinging the chain out, catching Spike’s wrist again, yanking back as he staggered. 

Spike pitched forward, dropping the kanabō, falling to her knees on the metal floor. She wrenched her arm, tearing the chain out of Hun’s hand, whipping it towards the wall. She reached out, elbow hooking around Hun’s knee. She yanked up, crushing the side of her bloodied fist into his abdomen as he fell to the floor, laughing uncontrollably, blood spraying from his mouth.

_ “Yer gonna die today, Sanchez,”  _ he taunted thickly.  _ “When y’mess with the Dragons, y’get the fangs. We’ll kill ya, jus’ like we promised.” _ He turned his head, fixing her with that manic stare.  _ “An’ then we’ll kill yer friend.” _

** _“SHUT UP!”_ **

Blood spurted from Spike’s busted nose as she roared, throwing all of her weight on top of Hun. She smashed her knee down, pressing into his broken ribs. The Dragon hissed with pain, fighting to buck her weight off as Spike dug her hands into his straight, black hair, yanking upwards. She smashed her forehead into his nose, ignoring the sharp burst of pain that radiated from her skull.

_ Crack! _

Hun howled.

Spike spat, a spray of blood and saliva splattering on the Dragon’s face as she reared back, driving her fist down with as much force as she could muster, once, twice, a third time, over and over again. Her meaty left hand knotted in the collar of his sleeveless shirt as her fist collided with Hun’s face. Her knuckles split open, chafed red. She was shouting, cursing him, the Shredder, the Foot Clan, the Purple Dragons, herself, throat scraped raw. Hun’s face cracked open and bled, bruising darker with each blow.

She couldn’t hear anything over the rushing, crashing thunder of her blood through her veins, through the hatred of this monster who had dared to try to harm April.

Someone was screaming her name.

The Foot robots fell around her, taken down by shadows in the corners of her vision. The voice grew closer, more distressed.

Something touched her shoulder from behind.

Like a reflex, Spike’s hand released from Hun’s shirt. Her head snapped around, eyes sharp and hard. Hun collapsed, limp to the ground. Spike’s fist raised, teeth bared.

* * *

  
April didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the wet on her cheeks as she shoved herself from the ground, screaming Spike’s name, that Hun was down, that she was  _ killing  _ him. 

The last robot hit the ground in pieces as April finally reached Spike, grasping her shoulders, trying in vain to pull her off.

Spike whirled, fist raised, snarling, almost animalistic.

_ “Spike,”  _ April gasped. It wasn’t a scream anymore, but a broken whisper, heart hammering in her chest. “ _ Please. _ ”

Spike’s swollen eyes widened, hands dropping, open, burst at the knuckles, into her lap.  _ “April.”  _ Her voice was hoarser than usual, scraped as raw as her hands.

Fresh tears pricked the backs of April’s eyes as she blinked, trying to clear her vision, taking in what was left of Spike’s face. Her hands lifted from Spike’s shoulders, shakily tracing her fingertips over the torn threads dangling from two ugly gashes, torn into Spike’s right cheek.

She couldn’t think of anything to say. There  _ wasn’t  _ anything to say, no way to channel the thunderous rush of words, exclamations, half-formed sentiments crashing through her mind. Her chest loosened, her fear dissipating.

“What happened to you?” she whispered.

“Y’aren’t supposed to be here.” Spike muttered. Her fingers knotted in April’s shirt as she stared, almost blindly, into April’s face. “Y’were supposed t’stay safe.”

“I had to find you.” April’s voice trembled. She threw her arms around Spike’s shoulders as more tears brimmed over, streaming freely down her cheeks and wetting Spike’s neck.

Spike gripped the back of April’s shirt. “You shouldn’t have come here, it ain’t safe. April, y’have to get outta here,  _ now _ -”

There was a horrifically unsettling note of fear in Spike’s voice, something April had only heard once before. April realized with a start that Spike was shaking uncontrollably, muscles trembling, heart pounding against her chest faster than April thought possible.

April pulled away, staring into Spike’s pale face, eyes dialated to the point where black swallowed the grey almost completely.

April had seen Spike rattled before, mere days ago. But somehow, the desperate urgency in Spike’s voice when they were first chased into the sewers seemed a distant memory, diminished in comparison to the tone filled with sheer terror now.

She raised her slim hands to cup Spike’s bruised, square jaw. “Spike, what happened?” She forced her voice to stay firm, to remain steady as she searched her friend’s battered face, fighting to stay calm.

“The Shredder,” Spike murmured. She reached up, clasping her own calloused hands around April’s wrists. “He killed Burch, April, an’ he wants to kill you too, d’ya understand? You have t’get outta here-”

* * *

Spike could barely focus on the words spilling out of her own mouth, scraping at the back of her throat painfully. She shoved herself to her feet, releasing April’s wrists. 

April wasn’t supposed to be here. She shouldn’t be here. Over and over again, her mind repeated what she already knew, increasing in volume, in desperation.

Spike craned her neck, glaring at the security camera fixed in the ceiling. “Listen, y’have to get outta here. ‘F the Shredder finds out you’re here, you’re dead. Y’gotta find an exit t’this thing-”

“The only way I’m leaving is with you!” April shook Spike’s hands off, stepping away. She frowned, an eerie echo of the disapproving looks she’d give Spike before a fight. “I can’t believe you! I spend two days worried sick about you, looking for you, afraid you were  _ dead,  _ I  _ find  _ you, and you’re hurt, and you’re  _ still  _ trying to pull the overprotective act on me?!”

Spike’s head snapped down, eyes flashing, nostrils flaring. “April, this ain’t  _ over  _ protective anymore. Shredder’s tryin’ t’kill you, d’ya understand me?!”

“And he’ll kill you too!”

_ “Not if I kill ‘im first!” _

April jerked back, expression changing in an instant from disapproving to shocked. “You can’t be serious!”

Spike fell silent. 

The memory of searing agony slicing through her cheek rose to the front of her mind, as blazing-sharp as it had been when it first happened. She grimaced, turning away. “Y’don’t know what he’s like,” she grunted. “What he’s capable of. He’s a monster. An’ I gotta stop ‘im.”

“Hold on, sister. If you think you can take on this Oruku Saki guy, you’re nuttier than I figured.”

Spike’s head jerked up. She whirled, eyes narrowing, fists and jaw clenching as her hazy vision focused on the reptilian figure before her: one of Hun’s monsters.

Her imagination’s conjured image of a ferocious turtle-monster dispatched quickly, replaced by this short, bright green figure. He raised a scaly eyeridge, a mild look of interest on his face.

“Hello? Am I coming through?” He tapped the side of his head, near the red bandanna wrapped around his head. “Can you hear me? I said you’re dead meat, Rambo. You may look tough, sure, but this guy was good enough to stand up to our Sensei, who, in case you hadn’t noticed, just  _ saved  _ your life.”

Spike’s shock faded rapidly. Her teeth ground, jaw tightening as she took a booted step forward. “Yoshi,” she barked. “This one of yours?”

“Raphael.” Hamato Yoshi’s voice had a stern edge to it as he stepped forward, serene and dishevelled. He turned to Spike. “These are my students.” He gestured at the mutant standing before her. “You have met Raphael.”

“Charmed,” he remarked, folding his arms across his chest. “Listen, I don’t care how tough you think you are, but let me tell you, you won’t stand a chance.”

Spike’s lip curled in a slight snarl.

April stepped forward, grabbing at Spike’s shoulder. “He’s a friend. They all are. They promised to help me find you.” The sharp, warning edge in her voice was unmistakable.

“Yeah! I’m Michelangelo!” An orange-masked turtle, nearly identical to the first, bounded to Raphael’s side, a grin spread across his beak.

“And I’m Donatello.” A purple-masked turtle waved from April’s other side, pulling a Foot soldier head from off of his staff. He pointed at one more, a blue-masked turtle. “That’s Leonardo.”

The turtle nodded, bowing solemnly. “Ms. Sanchez. It is an honor to meet you at last.”

Spike stopped short, staring at the group in stunned silence.

So these were Hun’s turtles from the rooftop. These were the dangerous, monstrous warriors that the Shredder was so worried about.

They were  _ kids _ . April had been under the protection of  _ children _ .

Spike’s jaw clenched further, thick, heavy eyebrows drawing together as she turned away from them, staring at April. “They brought you here?” she grated.

April frowned, raising her chin defiantly. “ _ I  _ brought me here. What was I supposed to do, just wait for you to come back? Give up on you?”

Spike spun, drawing herself up to her full height, towering over April. “You were s’posed t’stay low!” she thundered. “T’stay as safe as y’could! Instead of walkin’ right into a trap!” 

Spike’s head was pounding, heart in her stomach as the words tumbled out, past her control. Every hair on the back of her neck stood on end, waiting for another battalion of troops, or the new mutant creations, or worse, Shredder himself. Her stomach roiled, the familiar tendrils of pressure compressing her chest and ribs.

They didn’t have  _ time  _ for this.

“Of  _ course  _ it’s a trap!” April shouted back. “But I couldn’t  _ leave  _ you here! Look what he’s done to you already!”

Leonardo stepped forward. “We don’t have time for this,” he said evenly. “Now that we have Master Splinter, and you have your friend, we need to get out of here. Donatello, can we get out the way we came?”

Donatello shrugged, glancing up and down the hallway. “I don’t see why not. If we’re followed, I can rewire the doors again.”

_ “Leaving so soon?” _

The rich voice thundered through the corridor, echoing off the walls. Spike whirled, shoving April behind her as she craned her neck, wildly staring at each of the open doorways. Her heartbeat skittered, stopping for an instant.

** _No. Not now._ **

“Oruku Saki,” Yoshi breathed. “He is here.”


	10. Escape!

The shadows in one of the doorways moved.

April stared in horror as a huge, armored form stepped out of the darkness. The metal plates of his helmet gleamed brilliantly in the too-bright light, the swirl of his cape made him seem bigger still. All that was visible of his face were his eyes, the rest covered with a faceplate, a metal mask that in no way muffled his thundering voice.

Most disconcerting of all were the blades emerging from the gauntlets on his wrists, cruel, cold, and _sharp._

With a chill, April realized where the two ugly-looking gashes on Spike’s face had come from.

Her slim fingers tightened in Spike’s leather jacket as she pulled her back, shaking as the Shredder advanced, slowly, his boots clacking loudly on the floor. He nodded, looking almost pleased as he stepped forward, carelessly kicking through the disassembled remains of the Foot soldiers.

“Impressive. Very impressive. I was not certain you would get this far.”

Around them, Foot soldiers flooded from the open doors, circling the turtles, Splinter, and the two humans. They stood, silent, weapons raised, as though waiting for a signal. 

April’s head spun. She turned on her heel, staring wildly around, trying to watch every robotic figure at once. Her gaze returned to the Shredder, who seemed to have grown still larger, filling the hallway before them. He stood at ease, arms at his sides. His gaze roved over the group, settling on the rat that stepped forward, unafraid, to meet him.

The Shredder nodded at him. “I must congratulate you, Hamato Yoshi, on a truly bold escape attempt. I admit, I thought you too weak to escape from my Technodrome’s cells, much less defeat any of my Foot soldiers.” 

Splinter inclined his head, frowning. “Oruku Saki. You have always been arrogant, overly reliant on your technology, failing to see what it was that made the Foot Clan powerful.”

The Shredder chuckled, a tinny sound trapped within his helmet. “Yes...you and your ‘old ways’. You never changed, Rat. For all of your trust in ancient techniques, in the simplistic tools of the ancient ninja warriors, you’ll notice you are still trapped, held captive by my Footbots, in my Technodrome.” He leaned forward, staring Splinter down, a grimly satisfied edge to his voice. “You are still at my mercy, old man.”

“And yet, four students have managed to destroy several of your Footbots with nothing but their skills and their weapons.”

The Shredder laughed. “On the contrary. I’ve _allowed _them to come this far.” He took another step nearer. “Every step of the way, I’ve been preparing, waiting to destroy you and your monster students as I should have done all those years ago.”

“Wait.” Leonardo stepped forward, a frown wrinkling his beak. “What do you mean?”

Shredder turned, eyeing the turtle. “Perhaps I overestimated your intelligence. I’d assumed you’d figured it out by now: I _made _you.”

Leonardo went very still. 

Raphael’s fists clenched around his sais. “What’re you talking about?” he barked. “You didn’t make us. No-one did.”

  
“It was a freak accident,” Donatello added. He clutched his bo-staff, his voice shaky.

The Shredder chuckled again, spreading his hands. “I assure you, it was no accident. Indeed, it was _I _who made you who you are today. If not for me, Hamato Yoshi would never have left Japan. And if it were not for my mutagen, _you _would never have left your primitive state. It was _I _who caused you to mutate into your humanoid form.”

“He’s lying!” Raphael bared his teeth, raising his sais..

“Why chase Splinter out of Japan if you were just going to follow him and make him, and us, _stronger?_” Donatello asked, confusion spreading across his beak. “It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Doesn’t it?” The Shredder took another step forward. “I made you stronger, smarter, _better. _More than just a mindless animal. I _made _you, turtles. You owe _everything _to me. Because of my technology, _you _are useful.” He paused. “And I never waste what I can use, as Ms. Sanchez can attest to.”

Underneath April’s fingers, Spike’s muscles bunched.

April’s grip loosened. She took a cautious step to the side, searching Spike’s stoney face. “Spike?”

Spike’s bruised jaw tensed, but she remained silent.

“I got news, buster,” Raphael snarled. “We ain’t being ‘used’ by _anyone, _especially you!”

“Don’t deny your destiny, turtles. You were born to join the Foot Clan. Abandon your master, and join me.”

“No way!” Michelangelo cried. “Splinter trained us! We owe everything to _him!_”

“We will never join you.” There was a hard, cold bite to Leonardo’s voice as he pointed his katana blade at the Shredder’s armored chest. “We have listened to you long enough. Release us, now.”

The Shredder folded his arms across his chest. “A bold command from one in a position of such little power. I could destroy you all right now, if I wished.”

“Let me guess,” Donatello said dryly. “You don’t waste what you can use, right?” He lowered his bo-staff threateningly. 

April’s hands balled into fists. Almost unthinkingly, she stepped out from behind Spike, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them:

“Is that what you were going to do with Spike?” she burst out. “Use her?”

The Shredder turned his stare on her, seemingly larger than before. April halted, breath frozen in her lungs. It took all of her strength to stand there, to raise her chin and look the Shredder in the eye, trembling where she stood.

“Ah yes. The reporter. Even you, Ms. O’Neil, do not disappoint. I now see why it is that the Dragons were having such trouble getting rid of you.”

Spike jerked forward, chin jutting out.

“Wasn’t the Dragons,” she snarled. “Y’tried t’kill her. Y’killed Burch, an’ then y’tried to kill April. Y’just used the Dragons to do it.”

The pieces fell into place. April’s eyes widened.

“Of course,” she breathed. “You’ve been giving the Purple Dragons weapons, and they do what you say, right?”

The Shredder waved his hand dismissively. “A business transaction that was unavoidable if I were to maintain my operations in this country. But, Ms. O’Neil, you were persistent. Too persistent, and worse, unwilling to die easily. Fortunately, your curiosity is easily able to be taken advantage of. Once the incompetent Dragons retrieved your friend instead of you, and she refused to be of assistance, it was easy to think of a better way to kill two birds with one stone, to lure you, and your reptilian allies, into my Technodrome.”

“So we can all die together,” Raphael muttered. “Great.”

“Nobody’s going to die,” Leonardo said firmly.

“Your leader speaks the truth, if you take my offer.” The Shredder took another step forward, crowding them back into the Foot soldiers behind. “Even you Ms. O’Neil, will escape with protection. You turtles, shunned by the surface world, would find a place of belonging, of power in my Foot Clan. I might even be persuaded to let Hamato Yoshi live. Refuse, and I will end your pathetic lives right now. Last chance, turtles. Join the honorable Foot Clan, and I will allow you to live.”

There was a pause. April shrank back slightly into Spike’s side as she watched the Shredder’s eyes. There was the slightest spark of interest in them, of greed for power. She had the feeling that, if he were to let them go, _freedom _would have nothing to do with it. They’d be pawns until they no longer served his purposes.

April itched to shout it in his face, to shake that calm from him for just an instant, but the sharp blades of the surrounding Foot soldiers stopped the words from leaving her mouth. Instead, they circled around in her brain as she hoped and prayed that the turtles would know how to get them out of this with some semblance of tact-

“Does the phrase ‘go suck a lemon’ hold any meaning for you?” Raphael growled.

April winced.

So much for tact.

“Yeah!” Michelangelo cried, springing in front of Splinter. “No way, dude!”

Spike’s heavy hand fell onto April’s shoulder as she pulled her in closer. “Over my dead body,” she snarled.

There was a brief flash of that old irritation that April had once felt at Spike’s overprotective nature, before the look in Shredder’s eyes chased it away. April sucked in a breath, wishing she still had her stolen sword, as useless as she had been with it.

The Shredder’s eyes were devoid of anger, or frustration. It was as though their refusal was expected.

Not expected, she realized. It just didn’t matter either way.

“Very well.” The Shredder took a step back, nodding, his tone unchanged. “I have my own mutants. Foot bots, disengage.”

Around them, the robotic soldiers lowered their weapons in sync, standing back against the wall, perfectly still.

Spike’s shaking hand knotted into a fist in April’s shirt.

“Bebop, Rocksteady!” The Shredder raised his voice, thundering through the hallway now.

“Who?” Michelangelo turned, glancing around the hallway.

“What?” Donatello cried.

April’s heartbeat was so loud in her ears, she almost missed it.

The thumping of heavy footsteps, impossibly loud, echoing from all directions. She couldn’t tell where they were coming from, only that they were getting closer, picking up speed.

“Prepare yourselves,” Splinter advised, crouching. “We do not know what monsters the Shredder has created.”

“Yes, Master.” Leonardo settled, his features almost relaxed, somehow, as he watched the doors, waiting.

“Bring it on!” Raphael crowed, brandishing his sais.

Spike’s mouth pressed into a hard line, her breathing faster now as she took a step back, turning her head, staring from doorway to doorway.

“We hafta get outta here,” she murmured hoarsely.

As she spoke, at the end of the hall, behind the Shredder, two huge forms stalked through a doorway, turning to face them.

April’s breath caught in her throat as she stared up at them.

They were giants, dwarfing even the Shredder in all but presence. The creature on the right was covered with grey, leathery skin, a monstrous horn protruding from his snout. On his left, a tusked, hairy creature snorted, puffs of air coming from his pig-like nose.

_The warthog and the rhinoceros DNA. _April’s jaw dropped as her gaze roved over the mutants, taking in their apparel. Camo pants, boots, the warthog’s purple mohawk…

Her eyes widened as she reached out, grasping Spike’s arm.

The Purple Dragons from the alley. These were the men that had chased them into the sewer, who’d broken into the zoo, mangled into monsters.

The Shredder waved a careless hand as the mutants came up on either side of them. “I have no further use for them,” he said, almost casually. “Destroy them.”

The rhinoceros grinned, an ugly, twisted expression on his animalistic face. “With pleasure, Master Shredder.”

* * *

Spike moved before she thought, yanking April to the side before crouching, reaching for her discarded weapon. Beside her, two of the turtles charged forward, shouting, weapons raised.

“Raphael! Michelangelo! No!” One of the other reptiles cried. “We _need _a _plan!_”

The voice was fuzzy in her head, pushing through the ringing and aching to rattle her brain. Her hair was in her eyes, clumped by dried blood. Her hands wrapped around the cold metal of the kanabō, a shock to her burning-hot skin. Her breath came shallow and fast through her mouth, her broken nose clogged to the point where she couldn’t breathe through it.

The room was spinning around her, the roaring rumble of the mutants’ footsteps making the metal floor beneath her tremble. The memory of the fist coming down, the charges, Bebop’s heavy weight on her chest, came back in an overpowering rush.

She couldn’t think.

There was an almighty roar, and Michelangelo landed, skidding to a halt on his shell, two feet from where Spike was crouched.

“These guys are tough, dudes!” he exclaimed, flipping to his feet.

Bebop’s bellow filled the hallway, as he took a step forward, swiping a fist at Raphael. “Why don’t y’ try puttin’ those little forks away, turtle?”

Raphael growled, leaping up onto Bebop’s arm and digging a sai into his shoulder, throwing his weight backwards to throw the heavy mutant off balance. Donatello dove in beside him, sweeping his bo staff, blocked by Rocksteady’s massive arm catching him across the plastron, throwing him back.

Donatello gasped for air, falling back into a roll. “They’re too big, Leonardo!”

“Just remember, the bigger they are, the harder they fall! Look for weaknesses!” Leonardo cried.

“Weaknesses?” The Shredder laughed. “You young fool, they have no weaknesses. The perfect fighting machines, loyal only to me, obedient to my every command.”

As he spoke, Bebop stopped short, turning to glance at the Shredder over his thick, hairy shoulder. “Now hold on a minute,” he growled. “We’re Dragons. Dragons don’t take orders from nobody.”

“You do from me.” The Shredder’s voice had a sharp, warning edge to it. “Or did you forget our agreement?”

“We didn’t forget nothin’.” Bebop absently swatted Leonardo’s sword away from his snout, sending the blue-clad leader crashing against a wall. He pointed an accusing paw at the Shredder. “But every time y’give us orders, they go against what the Dragons want.”

Rocksteady slowly paused, his leathery brow wrinkling. “Hey, yeah.” His eyes narrowed. “He wouldn’t let Hun bump off O’Neil.”

“Or Sanchez. Jus’ wants us to blow these turtles away.”

* * *

April’s head hurt, but not enough to stop her brain from working. The argument had slowed the fight to a grinding halt, and even the turtles’ gung-ho enthusiasm was diminishing. They were tired, exhausted after fighting through wave after wave of robot ninja. The weight of the revelation the Shredder had been orchestrating everything for over fifteen years was a heavy one, numbing their actions with shock. 

Her gaze slid to Splinter. The old rat was still standing, but weak. He was in no condition for a marathon fight. The escape attempt had already cost him energy and strength.

And then there was Spike. Unsteady on her feet, battered and broken, shaking like a leaf and still pretending that she wasn’t terrified.

She wouldn’t make it through another round. She was dead on her feet already.

These new mutants, the Purple Dragons, were fresh. They were surrounded by inert Foot soldiers, waiting for the order to attack. The Shredder himself was imposing enough to warrant quite a fight.

April slowly pushed away from the wall she’d been shrinking against as the thought rose to the front of her mind, big and loud and obvious.

They couldn’t win this fight. But there were alternatives to fighting.

She cleared her throat. “That’s because the Shredder doesn’t want a partnership!”

The mutants paused again, turning their big heads to zero in on April. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Spike, taking a step towards her, already angling her body between her and the mutants.

April turned her head, shaking it slightly, trying to meet Spike’s eye, to reassure her that everything was okay, that for once, April had this under control.

“What d’you know about it?” Bebop rumbled. His eyes were unreadable behind the pair of sunglasses over them, but his tone was hesitant. April grimaced, raising her chin and leaping on opportunity.

“I know that I’ve been investigating.” April prayed that her voice sounded steadier than it felt. “And I know that the Shredder’s goal isn’t a partnership. He doesn’t want to make you strong, he wants to make you weak! Able to be used as tools. Do you think with all this technology, that he’d just leave the Dragons alone once he got what he wanted?”

Rocksteady scratched his head. “Well…”

Leonardo was standing slowly, his sharp eyes fixed on April, nodding as understanding settled over him.

“She’s right,” he called. He sheathed his katanas, raising his hands. “With all this power, he mutated you to be part of his forces. He’ll do the same to the rest of the Dragons. He’s using you, pretending that this is a partnership so that he has a way in to the rest of the city.”

“He’ll take over your territory!” April took a step forward, speaking louder now, forcing the tremble out of her tone. “He’ll mutate your entire force, and then he’ll start a gang war with no winners but him! He’ll take the entire city, take the profits from _your _rackets!”

Shredder barked a laugh. “Pitiful attempts to sway my servants. You think they’ll listen to you? I gave them everything. I gave them weapons, soldiers. I gave them _power._”

“Y’turned us into freaks!” Bebop roared, turning around. “Lookit us! We used t’be some of Hun’s best guys!”

“Yes, exactly! You were too powerful!” A grin spread across Donatello’s beak as he spread his arms, gesturing with his staff. “He’s just using you to trap us! Don’t you have better things to do than beat on a bunch of kids and an old man?”

April caught Spike’s eye, fighting back a sigh of relief as Spike paused, understanding gradually settling on her bruised features. April reached out, touching Spike’s shoulder, gently pulling her a step back. At the same time, she craned her neck, looking over the group to lock gazes with Leonardo.

_Run, _she mouthed.

He nodded, tapping Michelangelo on the shell and gesturing subtly, signaling something that April didn’t understand.

Michelangelo nodded, taking a slow step backwards, surreptitiously making the same sign with a tri-fingered hand to his brothers and master.

“That’s right,” Leonardo added, stepping forward as his brother edged back. “I thought the Purple Dragons were something to be afraid of. Turns out they’re just the Shredder’s mutant puppet errand boys!”

There was no mocking tint in his tone, no spiteful bite. Leonardo knew nothing about them. There was no history between them except for one defeat of their boss on a rooftop. And yet, somehow, those words, in that cold, noble, intelligent tone, were the straw that broke the camel’s back.

As massive as the mutants were, they seemed to swell even larger. Bebop huffed, chest puffing larger, rounding on the Shredder, furry fists raised. Rocksteady followed, swinging his huge arms as he clumsily spun, roaring, head down, horn up.

“We don’t take orders from nobody but the Dragons!” Bebop bellowed. His fists arced down-

April felt a large hand clasp around her arm, automatically turning to follow the motion. The hand jerked her back, down the hallway. Her legs struggled to move into motion for a moment as Leonardo dashed past her, incredibly fast.

She shook her head, allowing Spike’s iron grip to yank her forward, pushing herself to keep up. She burst into a dead run, sprinting past disassembled Foot soldiers and Hun’s bloodied form, whether dead or alive, she wasn’t sure.

“We have to get to the surface!” Leonardo cried, his voice echoing back, bouncing off the walls. “Donatello?”

“All we need is an exit! Doors should still be open, unless they’ve been rewired in the past ten minutes, which-“ Donatello jerked his thumb at the hallway full of open doorways. “They haven’t! I fried the circuits too much for an easy repair job, don’t worry.”

“We’ll congratulate you later,” Raphael shouted. “Right now, we need to move!”

“Raphael is right,” Splinter panted. “The Shredder’s creatures are slow of mind, but we should not underestimate them or the Shredder’s control.”

“Are you saying we didn’t win?” Michelangelo asked over his shoulder.

“I’m saying do not celebrate until we are well away from this place.”

April couldn’t have agreed more.

She heaved for breath as she caught up to Leonardo at the back of the pack. She grimaced, struggling to hear any sounds of pursuit over her shoes tapping on the metallic floor, and Spike’s boot-steps thundered alongside beside her. She chanced a glance back over her shoulder, straining to see the Shredder and his mutants.

“Here!” Donatello pointed his staff to the left, through a doorway to another identical hallway. “Feel the air flow? Exit’s that way!”

April jerked her head back around, eyes widening as Spike’s grip on her arm changed, swinging her around the turn a second before April collided with the wall.

“Hurry,” Spike rasped in her ear. “They’re comin’.”

April’s stomach clenched as she reached out, grabbing at Spike’s hand on her arm. “Already?!”

Leonardo turned his head as he skidded around the corner through the doorway into the new corridor behind April. His beak was set in a hard, grim line, an almost defeated look in his eyes. “We can’t fight them all,” he murmured.

Even further behind, the howling of the two mutants was growing closer, as was another sound: a slower, background sound, of blades against metal. As though someone was scraping a knife across a silver plate.

The image of the Shredder’s bladed gauntlets sprang to April’s mind, coated in dried blood, tumbling in her head and mixing with an image from a horror movie Spike had taken her to see three years ago: blades scraping the wall as Freddy Krueger advanced on a victim.

She felt like screaming. She blocked the memory out, attempting to ignore the sound, forcing her energy and oxygen into her legs, pushing faster. Spike was at her back, breathing hard, a labored, wet sound. April squashed down a sudden burst of worry as fear and concern battled for dominance in her chest.

“Donatello, can you close a door behind us?” Leonardo called.

Donatello shook his head without looking back. “Too much time! They’d be on top of us by then.”  
  


“How close is the exit?” Michelangelo called hopefully.

“Close…closer….” Donatello spun abruptly, pointing his staff at the floor. “There! Go! I’ll try to lock the door behind you.”

April couldn’t even see the opening at first, just the back of Michelangelo’s shell as he dove downward, through a gap in silver.

At first, that’s all it seemed to _be. _A gap in the silver, a break in the metal monotony of the Shredder’s maze.

As Raphael lifted Splinter into his arms and stepped to the edge of the hole, though, April realized the truth:

It wasn’t a doorway. It was a small gap, the connection point that linked the Technodrome to the treads underneath it. They were jumping _underneath _the vehicle onto the treads.

The support for the tread poked up through the hole, thick and round, pushing up through the ceiling into another level. April craned her neck to gape at it, staggering back as Raphael leapt through the slim gap, his shell scraping against the edges of the opening as he did so.

“We must be on the bottom level of the Technodrome,” Donatello mused from his spot at the control panel. “Makes sense. The detention level would be considered the most disposable…” his voice trailed off as he glanced sideways at Spike. “No offense.”

“Ms. Sanchez, you’re next.” Leonardo drew his katanas, turning to face the way they’d come.

Spike shook her head. “April first,” she grunted.

April yanked her arm out of Spike’s vice-like grip, shaking off the fear for an instant as she turned to face her, planting her small, manicured finger in the center of Spike’s leather-clad chest. 

“You listen to me. I’ve spent days worried sick about you! I’ve walked into ninja pizza parlors and mutant-infested sewers, and I’ve faced down Purple Dragons and ninja overlords to get you back! I am not letting you _die _here because you think you have to protect me! Now go!” She shoved at Spike’s shoulders, pushing her towards the gap in the floor. “I’ll be right behind you!”

Spike’s eyes flashed with surprise, bloodied eyebrows knit together in a scowl, mouth opening as though to argue. If not for her mangled face, she would have looked exactly like she had the night April first took this story, the picture of overprotective fury.

April lowered her hand, balling it into a fist as she bit her lower lip, blinking back a fresh wave of tears. “Spike, please,” she murmured. “Go. I can take care of myself.”

“Hey, c’mon up there! Hurry it up, we don’t have all night!” Raphael’s voice carried up through the gap in the floor, irritated with a tinge of something that April suspected was worry.

“Go!”

Spike turned, reluctantly, stepping shakily towards the gap in the floor. April pushed gently at her shoulder, anxiously glancing back at the door. “Go!”

Spike glanced over her shoulder one last time, huffing once before plunging, feet first, into the hole in the Technodrome floor.


	11. Happy New Year

After so long in the blindingly bright white of the Technodrome, the darkness of the tunnel was unreal, like jumping back into a distant memory. Even the stench of sewer was preferable to the overly-clean scent of nothingness ever-present in the Shredder’s metal prison.

Spike hit the ground with a _thud, _pain shooting up her legs, shaking off the eerie sense of déjà vu.

She staggered, slightly, before standing upright, craning her neck to peer upwards at the belly of the Technodrome now over her head. She took a step back, away from the thick, powerful treads, desperately stomping down the tendrils of guilt and fear that wound their way around her chest, tightening her throat as a hundred regrets swarmed her at once.

She should have made April go first. April should have been down here to meet her-

No.

April shouldn’t have been here at all. 

Spike ground her teeth, every nerve on end as she squinted through swollen eyes at the belly of the huge, spherical tank, heart beating double-time, pulse rushing as panic fought with exhaustion to overtake her senses.

_Where is she?!_

After what felt like an eternity, April’s boots appeared, dangling from the hole above before she dropped, landing awkwardly an inch away from the huge treads. Spike lunged forward, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, grasping April’s shoulder with one hand, the kanabō dangling heavily from her other.

“You alright?”

“Fine,” April gasped. She lifted her head, peering up through the darkness into Spike’s face. “You?”

Spike shrugged one shoulder, grimacing. “Fine.”

It was a lie, of course, and not even a good one. And April knew it. 

It was a familiar back-and-forth, a well-known lie that Spike had told, again and again every time she’d come home, beaten black-and-blue, from a fight. No matter how well Spike convinced Angel, or the other fighters, that she wasn’t hurt, that she’d shrugged off the blows, pretending her skin was steel, she could never fool April.

Least of all now.

In the darkness, in her condition, she couldn’t see April’s expression, but her voice came through loud and strong:

“I’m serious.” April paused. “Are you okay?”

Spike shifted, turning her face away, working her jaw. “I’ve been worse.”

“No. You haven’t.” April’s voice softened as she reached up, clasping Spike’s thick forearm with her smaller hand. “Where are the turtles and Splinter?”

“Over here!”

April whipped around, focusing on the side of the dirt tunnel where their mutant allies stood as the red-masked turtle stepped forward, cocking his head. 

“Not bad, April. You’re a fast talker. I’m almost impressed.”

“That was _awesome!_” the orange-masked turtle cheered. “You totally saved us!”

Hamato Yoshi nodded from where he stood, leaning on the red-masked turtle’s arm. “Indeed, April. It seems my sons underestimated you,” he murmured. His gaze slid over, focusing on Spike, his black eyes glittering in what light there was. That piercing, unsettling gaze seemed to go right through her, as though he’d known her as long as April had. “Both of you.”

April let out a sigh. “I didn’t know if it’d work,” she admitted. “Thank goodness they aren’t too smart.”

“Agreed. But the Shredder is.” The rat’s voice echoed, somehow calm despite the circumstances.

The memory of the Shredder’s cold, calculating tone filled Spike’s head, so clearly she could almost hear it.

“He’s right,” she rumbled. “Don’t matter what y’convinced the Dragons, the Shredder’ll bribe ‘em or threaten ‘em into comin’ after us.” 

A _thud _in the soft dirt behind them signaled the arrival of the one armed with the stick, wearing a purple mask. Spike clumsily turned, watching as he bounded towards them. “They’re coming through the door!” he cried. “They’ll be on us in moments!”

“We need to move, fast!” The blue-masked turtle dropped down beside him, holding a sword in either hand. He pointed ahead with one, glancing up over his shell at the Technodrome. “C’mon! To the surface!”

The turtles took off at a dead run, the red-masked turtle helping along Hamato Yoshi. April burst into a sprint, heels striking the packed dirt, kicking it up onto Spike’s torn jeans as she took an unsteady step forward, hands clenched around the handle of her stolen weapon, hanging heavily, the head nearly brushing the ground.

She couldn’t run anymore. Her might was spent, whittled away from tearing the door, from forcing off what felt like hundreds of Foot robots, of beating Hun to the smear that he deserved to be. She couldn’t do it again.

She could hear the clanking of machinery behind her, the familiar hiss of a door opening, a rectangular beam of light projected, striking in the dark tunnel, framing her in it. Her shadow stretched long, a large figure, bent, shaky.

_No. Not again._

She wouldn’t be captured again. She’d put April in enough danger already.

One boot down. She planted her weight, pitching herself forward, teeth gritted as she pushed off, into one last push. Just one last push, she told herself. Almost free.

The bitter, organic smell of the earth, of sewer, grew stronger as she forced her head up, eyes fixed on the never-ending far tunnel. They had to be almost out. Her skin itched to feel the cool, smog-filled air of the surface, take in the city, whether it was day or night.

The ramp was extending behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as her stomach lurched, chest tightening.

She was so focused on the end of the tunnel that for a minute, she didn’t notice April turning and running back until she had her hand on her sleeve, tugging her forward, shouting encouraging words that echoed off of the dirt walls.

With strength that Spike didn’t know she had, April yanked her down the tunnel, her arm stretching to reach around her broad back, straining to reach as she steadied her.

They were nowhere near an end point that Spike could see when she felt it - an air current, the frigid December air of New York City, wafting down from a hole above. As April pulled her to a halt, Spike craned her neck to see where the air was coming from.

There was a hole in the underground ceiling above them, letting in a stiff breeze and the cold lights of New York City.

“How do we get up there?” April asked, gently shifting herself out from underneath Spike’s arm.

  
“Easy! We jump!” The orange-masked turtle, Michelangelo, grinned before sprinting for the nearer wall, extending his leg to hit the side, propelling himself upward, grasping the edge of the hole. He neatly curled his body in on itself, flipping his body up and through, spinning around to extend his hand. “C’mon, April!”

April glanced up, then at Raphael. “Splinter?”

“Do not worry about me, child,” the rat assured her. “Get to safety.”

April nodded, tilting her head back to look up at the hole. She turned her head, glancing at Spike. “Can you boost me?”

Spike nodded, dropping her weapon onto the dirt floor to cup her calloused hands at waist height. “Hurry,” she rumbled, her voice sounding tight.

April jumped, her weight landing into Spike’s hands as Spike heaved up, launching her upwards, arms outstretched. Michelangelo’s hands latched around April’s wrists.

“Got her!” he cried, tugging her upwards. April’s legs kicked and scrabbled as she slowly hauled herself out of the hole. The second she was on solid ground, she turned, anxiously peering back down, her head backlit by streetlights.

“Spike?”

Spike took a step forward, before pausing.

“Heads up,” she barked, grabbing her stolen weapon. April’s eyes widened as she pulled back, away from the hole. Spike wound back before releasing, muscles protesting as she threw the kanabō straight up.

A split second later, a telltale _thud _announced its landing on the ground above.

Michelangelo reappeared in the hole, reaching his arm down. “C’mon! I’ll pull you up!”

Spike nodded wordlessly before she crouched, gathering as much strength as she could muster before pushing off, straining to grab hold of Michelangelo’s outstretched arms.

“Oof!”

“Do you have her?” April’s voice echoed down, full of worry. “You got her?”

“Yeah.” Michelangelo’s voice was strained as he planted his weight, slowly tugging upwards. “No worries, I gotcha.”

April appeared over his shell, reaching down, hands clasping around one of Spike’s wrists as she pulled.

A moment later, Spike clumsily tumbled onto the surface, staggering to her feet, chin raised to the skyline, the frigid breeze cutting through her leather jacket. 

A second later, Hamato Yoshi scrabbled up beside her, whiskers twitching, furry face turned to look behind him as the three remaining turtles vaulted up, one at a time.

“They’re coming!” Leonardo turned, glancing around him, a slightly frayed edge to his collected voice. “Can we plug up the hole?”

“Here!” April scrambled to the edge of the circle cut off by police tape, reaching for a large, black tarp.

“Oh yeah, that’s gonna help a whole lot,” Raphael uttered sarcastically.

“Do you have any better ideas?!” April cried.

“They’re here!” Donatello shouted. “Get back!’’

At first, Spike couldn’t feel it. She could barely feel anything at this point, other than her own body, one large, throbbing nerve, alternatively aching and stabbing with pain. She could barely focus on anything, her mind torn between the desire to get away, to get April out of danger, or to think of some way to end this, to destroy the Technodrome, the Shredder, and his monsters.

But ass Donatello cried out, leaping back from the hole, his bo-staff already in his hands, Spike felt it.

The ground beneath Spike’s boots started to tremble.

“Go! Run!” Leonardo shouted, pushing at April’s back. “Take Master Splinter!”

“Yeah! We’ll take care of this!” Raphael crowed, his sais already in his hands.

April dove for Hamato Yoshi, grabbing his faded sleeve and pulling him forward, glancing over her shoulder with wide eyes. “Spike!”

Spike reached down, snagging the handle of the kanabō before turning on her booted heel, forcing herself to put in just a little more effort, to hold out just a little longer-

_“Say your prayers, turtles!”_

Rocksteady’s voice cut the air the second before the bullets did, loud gunfire shattering the noisy New York City clamor. Ahead, April yelped, dragging Splinter down behind a bench, dropping to her knees with her hands on her ears. Spike dropped beside them, arm already out, pulling April almost underneath her, shielding her.

Above the sound of machine-gun fire, Michelangelo’s voice rang out, somehow louder:

“C’mon, let’s annihilate these turkeys!”

Spike exhaled, turning her face away grimly. “They’re dead,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Shredder’s goons’ll tear ‘em t’pieces.”

“Come on!” April cried, turning her head to peer through the slots in the bench, face frozen, as though she couldn’t look away. “We have to do something!” She winced at a resounding pair of _thuds, _watching Raphael and Leonardo’s simultaneous side-kicks land, to no effect.

“Your spirit is strong,” Splinter murmured from between them. “But use caution. Shredder’s new creatures are formidable, indeed.”

“But we can _beat _them,” April said sharply, head whipping around to stare, first at Splinter, then up at Spike, eyes wide, almost manic. “We’ve already proven that they aren’t that smart. We can trap them, or something-“

_Clang!_

April yelped as Spike threw an arm over her, pulling her face-down to the ground as a manhole cover sailed over the bench, over their heads.

“No!” Spike’s voice came out in a harsh hiss as her grip tightened around April’s arm. “We gotta get you outta here. S’ too dangerous-“

“I’m not leaving them!” April hissed back. “We have to do something! They saved my _life,_ Spike. We can’t just leave them to fight off these monsters!”

“Hey, didn’t I see you guys in _The Jungle Book_?” Raphael’s voice called, slightly strained.

Another rain of gunfire rang out, above a clamor of other sounds, animal roars of fear and nervousness, the sounds of large bodies shifting. Spike’s head jerked up, eyebrows knit together in confusion as she turned, taking in the animal cages, the garbage cans, the light posts –

_Central Park Zoo._

She’d led the Shredder here. She’d gotten captured, forced April into relying on help to get her out. If April owed these turtles her life…

Then Spike owed them too.

She swore, reluctantly letting go of April’s arm and raising her head again, scanning their surroundings.

“We can’t beat ‘em,” she muttered, the words bitter in her mouth. “Not in a straight fight. Y’hear what they’re packin’ out there?”

“We don’t have to beat them,” April said. “We just need to trap them!”

“Trap ‘em how?”

April frowned, her sharp eyes darting around the dark, empty zoo. “We’ve got plenty of cages,” she pointed out.

Splinter nodded. “We must get to one large enough to hold them.”

“No problem.” April dug in her pockets, rummaging. “I just need something to pick the lock…Wait!” She yanked her hands out of her pockets, eyes wide and manic as her hands dug into her hair, yanking out multiple hair pins. “Perfect!” A wild look of determination hardened her features as she turned her head, fixing Spike with an intense stare. “Okay, Spike, here’s the plan. I’ll get Master Splinter to safety and make for the cage. You tell the turtles the plan and try to force the monster back into the cage once we open it. Sound good?”

_No._

None of it sounded good. April was relatively safe here, behind this bench. To run out there, in all the gunfire –

“Ain’t gonna work.”

“What? Why not?”

“How much experience you got pickin’ locks?”

“We don’t have another choice!” April cried. “Besides, how hard can it be?” She paused, studying Spike’s face, eyes wide. “Spike, I’ll be alright. I have Splinter with me. Just help me help them, and we can go home. I promise, I’ll be careful.”

Spike’s jaw clenched, aching. Her eyes burned as she strained, carefully looking over April’s resolute, grimy features.

No words came to mind. There was no way to verbalize the overwhelming, compressing feeling of dread that clenched her chest and gut, the feeling she’d been living with for days as she internally roared and railed against this plan, against anything leading to April leaving, getting out of reach from where Spike could protect her.

She couldn’t say any of it.

Finally, she nodded tersely. “Stay safe,” she rasped.

April nodded, features softening slightly. “You too.” She raised her head, peering over the park bench for a split-second, reaching out to grab Splinter’s furry arm, tugging. “Coast is clear. Come on!”

The rat lunged forward, behind her, matching her speed as they burst from behind the bench. April crouched low to the ground as she darted from garbage-can to lamp-post, bounding across the zoo towards the rhinoceros cages.

Behind the fighting.

Spike bolted to her feet behind the bench, placing one hand on the top and pushing off, vaulting over it and landing, stiffly, on the other side. 

She grimaced at the impact on her battered joints before taking off at an awkward run towards the cluster of turtles, driven further back, closer to the entrance of the Central Park Zoo. Her knuckles clenched around the handle of her weapon as she loped forward, swollen eyes on the barrels of Bebop and Rocksteady’s guns, spewing hot metal.

She watched Raphael dive, scooping something off of the ground and rolling to his feet, facing their attackers, clutching something in his hands. He squinted, unmoving against the spray of bullets just missing him, before reeling back, and throwing.

A small stone flew from his hand, arcing in a perfect angle into the barrel of Rocksteady’s gun.

“Wha-“

Dickerson had never been smart.

The gun exploded in his leathery hands, shards of hot metal spewing back, catching on Rocksteady’s clothing as he howled, stumbling back, screaming in pain.

As he did, Donatello dug his staff into the ground, using it to pole-vault, driving both feet into the rhino’s chest, knocking him back another step.

“Ms. Sanchez!”

Spike swung her head, searching through the relative darkness as Leonardo leaped forward in front of her, swords drawn, facing away from her in a defensive stance. “Get to safety! You’re supposed to be with Master Splinter-“

“He’s with April.” Spike raised her good arm, pointing unsteadily behind the two huge mutants. “They got a plan. Drive ‘em back to the cages.”

Leonardo paused, following her gaze, scaly forehead wrinkling. “It’s a good plan,” he murmured. “I don’t know if we have the power for it.”

“Don’t need power. Jus’ need t’outsmart ‘em.” Spike raised her club-like weapon, grasping it with both hands. “They ain’t that bright, remember?”

“Good point-_get down!_”

Leonardo’s arm flew up, digging into Spike’s shoulders and yanking down, surprisingly strong, as an emission of bullets riddled the air where her head had been. The turtle threw his weight forward, pulling both of them into a roll as Michelangelo hurled a manhole-cover like a discus at Bebop’s furry wrist. The warthog yelped, hand opening reflexively as the machine-gun clattered to the gravel.

“Alright. I’ll tell them the plan. You stay out of the way,” Leonardo murmured, clambering to his feet.

“I can fight.” The response was reflex, the result of years of training to never stay down, no matter how much it hurt.

And it did _hurt._

Her broken nose was making breathing more difficult than usual. The marks where the Shredder had torn open her face were steadily throbbing. She could barely see, especially in the relative darkness, and the rest of her body was a testament to days of beatings.

Angel’s voice was in her ear, telling her to get up, to get going, to keep fighting. Spike slowly hauled herself to her feet beside Leonardo, staring down at him, inhaling through her mouth and broadening her shoulders, making herself appear still larger, towering over the reptilian teenager.

“I ain’t tappin’ out ‘til April’s safe,” she said, voice harder and colder than ice.

Leonardo’s gaze was almost as sharp and piercing as his master’s, his eyes darting between Spike and the action before them as Donatello and Raphael clipped Rocksteady simultaneously with their weapons, spinning him off balance.

“April wasn’t kidding about you,” he said at last. “Not the damsel type. Okay. Distract them. Start making for the cages. We’ll watch your back. There’s a good chance these guys will go after you. Ready?”

Spike barely had time to register the words before Leonardo was bounding back in, katanas raised as he cried out over his shell: _“Go!”_

She turned, taking off at an awkward dead run, the weapon clutched in her aching hands. Her boots kicked up gravel as her path curved widely around Bebop and Rocksteady, coming behind them and making for the cages, where April’s dim outline could be seen, crouched by the bars and working steadily at something in her hand.

Behind her, Leonardo’s voice rang out, exaggeratedly loud and bombastic:

“It doesn’t matter what you do to us! Your former prisoner is running to call the cops, and once the calvary gets here, you’re done for!”

April’s new allies were sharper than they looked. And faster.

Spike strained over her own panting to listen for the slow turns of the heavy mutants, signaled by the crunch of gravel under their boots, waiting for the moment they’d start running-

_“Get her!”_

Rocksteady’s bellow split the night air. By the cages, April’s head jerked up, eyes wide, before she hurriedly turned back to her task, hands moving even faster, movements frantic and jerky.

_Just get there-_

“Yeah, c’mon guys! The party’s over here!”

Michelangelo’s voice crowed in her ear as he landed, light as a feather, already running as he hit the dirt by Spike’s elbow. He turned, grinning over his shoulder at the mutants and gesturing them onward before turning and waving his hand at Spike.

“Their guns are gone, no worries,” he whispered.

_“You’re_ _dead meat, Sanchez!”_

“They don’t need ‘em,” Spike muttered back. 

“We’ve got your back,” Raphael huffed from her right flank, sais spinning in his hands. “Hope April’s ready for this.”

“She’ll be ready.”

The words came out forceful on each puff of air, hard and sharp. She could feel the earth shaking under each step from the mutants, could hear Leonardo and Donatello shouting, herding the monsters for the cages. Closer to the ground by April’s waist, the rat crouched, raising his head and looking at them with sharp, bright eyes.

The rat nodded as April jerked back with a cry of triumph, and the gate swung open –

_“Now!”_

Leonardo’s voice rose above the clamor from the rear as Raphael and Michelangelo dropped back, shoving at the bigger mutants as Spike pitched off course, veering, collapsing into a clumsy roll as behind her, heavy footsteps thundered past, too fast to stop. She couldn’t see, couldn’t twist around fast enough to see if April was safe, if she’d gotten out of the way.

Her mouth was full of dirt, dry and gritty on her parched tongue. Spike spat gravel out, grimacing at the feeling of the rocks dragging against her torn face as she shoved herself to her knees, head swinging around, forcing her swollen eyes as wide as she could, searching for April in the dark.

The redhead was just visible under the lights, cringing back by the cage as the gate swung shut with a _clang, _Leonardo and Raphael holding it fast as Donatello plucked the slim bobby pin from April’s fingers and dove at the padlock. Behind the bars, the rhinoceros roared, charging its mutant cousin and the warthog, who threw themselves against the bars, bellowing death threats.

It all happened in the span of less than thirty seconds.

  
Donatello pulled back, a bright smile on his face. “We did it!”

Raphael stepped forward, a sarcastic bent to his beak. “Now you boys have fun together, and we’ll be back to check on ya, in about _ten years_.”

“You won’t get away with this! Shredder won’t jus’ leave us here!” Bebop roared, rattling the cages. Behind him, Rocksteady turned, slamming his fist into the side of the rhino’s head, attempting to shove it back.

“I think you have more faith in your master than you should,” Leonardo said. He stepped away, already bending down to help the rat. “Master Splinter, are you alright?”

“They aren’t getting through these bars anytime soon,” Donatello remarked proudly. He rapped on the side of the cage. “Besides, that rhino will keep them busy until the cops show up.”

Spike barely heard him, barely heard any of it. She remained on her knees, guts heaving, arms shaking under her weight as her vision blurred over.

She could feel herself falling, felt her strength giving out, but somehow she never hit the ground. Something was around her torso, holding her up with surprising strength. There was a wavering voice in her ear, repeating a few phrases over and over again: _You did it, we’re safe, we can go home, I’m so glad you’re alive-_

Spike slumped into April’s grip, head falling heavily onto her shoulder, smearing her shirt with blood. She could feel drops of water falling onto her head, salt-water stinging the cuts as April cried, slim fingers digging into the leather of her jacket.

Overhead, there was a loud, distant shout, and the sky lit up like a lightning storm as a thousand cracks, snaps and explosions went off. She remembered the sound: fireworks.

_Fireworks?_

Spike lifted her face, letting the multicolored light wash over her as April’s tears turned to laughter, grip tightening as she started to shiver, the cold setting in.

“Happy New Year, Spike,” she whispered. “Let’s go home.”


	12. Nowhere To Go But Onward

The nightmare was over. April was safe.

That was all that mattered.

The sounds of the city rushed into her ears, car horns, sirens, the sound of a hundred thousand cars, the noise of the fireworks overhead as the ball dropped in Times Square. Spike knelt on the ground, leaning her weight on April’s shoulder, head tipped up, staring glassy-eyed at the night sky, its brilliance dimmed by the lights of the city. She’d forgotten what _outside _felt like, looked like, even smelled like, the overwhelming sensations dulling the throbbing pain over every inch of her body.

Next to her, April was shaking, laughing through tears as she hugged Spike tighter, jostling her aching shoulders and ribs. She buried her face in Spike’s neck, soaking the collar of her leather jacket.

_Her jacket._

Spike started as her memory jolted, removing her arm from April’s shoulders as something solid in her jacket pocket clunked against her sore hip.

_The tape._

Spike’s stiff fingers shot to her pocket, wrapping around the slightly battered tape-player. She drew it out of her pocket to hold up under the street lights, silently watching April’s expression.

“What’s that? A cassette player?” Donatello piped up curiously. His own fingers twitched, his eyes wide with curiosity as he studied it.

April’s mouth fell open, eyes fixed on the object in Spike’s calloused hand. For a moment, she was speechless, before she choked out: “You didn’t.”

“Shredder’s confession.” Spike’s voice was hoarse, down to a near whisper by now, but her words were thick, heavy, final. She hefted the tape recorder. “Admittin’ he sent the Dragons t’kill Burch. ‘N you.”

“I…” April’s voice trailed off, her eyes shiny, her face wet with tears. “You got me my story.” She reached out, slender, shaky fingers carefully clasping around the tape and gingerly lifting it out of Spike’s calloused hand. “You saved my life…and then you got me my story anyway? It was this that got us into this mess in the first place! You could have been killed!”

“She’s right, you know,” Raphael pointed out. “This whole thing seems like it’s a heck of a lot more trouble than its worth.”

Spike’s lip twisted in a shadow of a snarl, her swollen eyes narrowing as they fixed on the red-masked reptile, her hands balling into fists as she moved to stand, wobbling dangerously. Raphael met her gaze, staring right back with an equally harsh look.

“Raphael,” Leonardo chastised. “We’ve held up our end of the deal.” He raised his head, eyeing April. “Now you can keep _your _end of the bargain. He nodded at the two mutants trapped in the rhinoceros cage, now spending more time trying to stay out of its reach than shouting insults. “There you are, April. Two stories for the price of one.”

“You won’t mention us, right?” Donatello added.

April seemed to snap out of her daze, nodding as she craned her neck to look up at them. “Right. I’ll just say that the Shredder was responsible for the thefts, and the killings…and the mutants.” She nodded her head at the cage that trapped Bebop and Rocksteady. “I need to call the office. You guys had better get lost, just in case someone spots you.” She smiled unsteadily.

“Aw, come on!” Michelangelo pleaded. “I wanna see what you do on TV!”

“Come, Michelangelo. April is right. We must take care to not reveal ourselves to the public,” Splinter said, leaning on Leonardo’s shoulder. “We trust we will see you again, April.” He nodded at Spike. “And you, as well.”

“Count on it,” April said.

Spike raised her head, glancing at April through the blood-stained fringe of hair in her eyes, before slowly moving her gaze to take in the turtles and their rat master, nodding.

“See you on the news, April,” Raphael called. He crouched, before springing, with incredible power, on top of the zoo wall, waving half-heartedly. “Catch you guys later. Y’know, you’re not bad. For humans.”

April laughed quietly, raising a hand to wave as Michelangelo joined him, followed by the others, ending with Splinter’s steadier ascent, before they disappeared over the wall altogether.

In an instant, they were alone in the Central Park Zoo. If it weren’t for the mutants in the cage behind them, Spike almost could have imagined that none of it had happened at all.

Maybe she could have, if everything hadn’t hurt _so much._

April turned to her, anxiously scanning her face as her fingers clenched around the precious tape. “Are you alright?”

_No._

Spike nodded.

April’s eyes studied her features, her empty hand raising to once again brush at the broken threads of her stitches, her busted nose, her split lip and the dried blood that caked all over the bruising.

“No, you aren’t,” she said softly. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

Spike shook her head with effort, grimacing at the feeling as her vision swam. “Get your story first,” she gritted. “’S what matters.”

“No.” April dropped her hand, raising her chin in a familiar expression that now held a quiet strength that hadn’t been quite as apparent before. “I almost lost you over this story.” She held up the tape, her eyebrows knitting together. “It doesn’t matter. Not as much as you do. I’ll get that story…only after you get in an ambulance.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Deal?”

Spike exhaled slowly, her fixed glower fading. She nodded, jerking her head. “Fine,” she grunted.

April smiled for just a minute, taking a step back. “Sit down. I’ll be right back.”

She turned on her heel, taking off for the nearest payphone, glancing behind her every few steps as though to make sure Spike didn’t disappear the moment her back was turned.

As April disappeared into a phone-booth nearby, Spike sank back to the ground, exhaustion setting into every fiber of her body. She barely had the presence of mind to realize when she was loaded into an ambulance, almost completely unaware of the medics’ questions of where she’d gotten these injuries. She could vaguely hear April explaining that she’d been the victim of gang violence…

And after that, she couldn’t hear at all.

* * *

The room was white, blindingly so, to the point that when she first opened her eyes, she was struck by the chilling thought that the rescue had been a dream, that she was still in the Technodrome.

That the nightmare hadn’t ended.

It was only after hearing the beeping of the monitors, noticing the tubes and wires and patchwork that covered her body, that Spike realized that it was truly over.

“I’ve got to admit, honey, when April tried to tell me you were still alive, I doubted her. Poor thing’s hunches haven’t always paid off, you know? I wanted to believe her, sweetheart, it isn’t like I wanted my best fighter out of the picture thanks to a fight that _I _set up, but still…to survive a Dragon attack, you must be more Unbreakable than I thought.”

Angel’s dark suit looked out-of-place in the hospital recovery room, but it was a welcome sight. Spike’s sore eyes blinked, focusing on the cool, collected expression on her boss’s face, before nodding stiffly, adjusting herself as she sat up just slightly.

“Besides, the scarring is going to look very intimidating, extremely distinctive. We’ll be able to market that, you know, make it a brand. Spike Sanchez: The woman who took on the Purple Dragons and lived.” Angel tapped a long, slender finger against her full lips. “You’ll be bigger than ever, sweetheart.”

“She doesn’t have to be. Not anymore.” April reached for Spike’s shoulder on her other side, comfortingly clenching around the hospital gown fabric as she maintained steady eye-contact with Angel. “She’s done enough. Look at her.” April paused, her voice cracking. She inhaled, shaking her head and re-focusing her gaze. “She doesn’t have to fight ever again.”

Spike grimaced, swallowing dryly before shaking her head. “Yeah, April. I do.”

April froze, the color draining from her face. Her grip tightened, knuckles whitening, as she turned, glancing down at her. “What?”

Spike’s hands, cleaned and bandaged, clenched into clumsy fists as she raised her gaze, meeting April’s. “I gotta fight again.”

The redhead started, shaking her head, closing her eyes against the words. “No. Look at yourself. I can’t let you destroy yourself any further-“

“It ain’t endin’ here,” Spike rasped. Her abdomen ached as she forced herself to sit straighter, grimacing against the stitches in her shoulder and cheek.

“What do you mean?” Angel folded her arms, dark eyes studying Spike with an air of interest.

“I beat the Dragons an’ lived. Makes me a target. Makes April one too.” Spike focused her gaze on April, who refused to open her eyes. “Means I gotta keep strong, in fightin’ shape. I ain’t lettin’ them scare me off. ‘Sides, I gotta score t’settle.” She turned her head, slowly eyeing Angel. “I’ll be back into trainin’ ‘s soon as I’m outta here.”

Angel paused, glancing between the two. “I see.” She shifted, for a split-second looking uneasy, before clearing her throat. “I’m glad you’re alright, Spike. I’ll see if I can get you a bigger cut of the next fight. You’ve earned it.” 

Spike nodded. Angel turned, inclining her head slightly in April’s direction, before silently moving to the door, opening it, and letting herself out.

The room was left in silence.

“You can’t fight again,” April murmured. “I won’t let you.”

“You can’t stop me.” Spike shifted, wincing. She lowered her voice. “Shredder’s still out there, April. Y’got your story, an’ New York knows ‘bout Bebop and Rocksteady, but he’s still alive, an’ he knows who you are, an’ where you live.” Her gut clenched at her own words. “An’ he’ll want revenge.”

“You don’t know that.” April’s eyes opened, staring, a pleading look in her eyes. Her own voice dropped to a whisper to match. “Leave it for the turtles.”

“He didn’t go after the turtles. He went after you. An’ he nearly got you, too.”

April’s expression froze. “I know.”

“He’ll try it again.”

April nodded, flinching. “I know that too.” She reached down, grasping Spike’s huge hand between her smaller ones. “But…” She bit her lower lip. “You could die. You almost _did. _Or worse, get turned into a monster like those mutants.”

Spike shrugged a shoulder, rolling it. “Not if I got a fightin’ chance.” She raised her head, boring her stare into April’s eyes. “Between us an’ the turtles, we’ll make it so Shredder can’t hurt you, can’t touch you ever again. We’ll take care of him, but y’gotta let me learn how.”

“Spike…” April squeezed her hands around Spike’s, closing her eyes again and shaking her head against the words. “You don’t have to prove anything. You know you’re the only one I can count on.”

“No. I wasn’t.”

Spike withdrew her hand, folding her arms across her chest and turning her face away. She could feel April’s gaze on her now, fixated with morbid curiosity on the scars on the side of her face, the long, jagged, _permanent_ reminders of the Shredder. For an instant, she was back on the Technodrome floor, clutching her face as her blood gushed onto the cold metal under her bruised hands. She fought against the spreading feeling of fear in her chest and gut, gritting her teeth, ignoring the throbbing pain in her face.

“But I’m gonna make sure that you _can _count on me,” she muttered hoarsely. “I ain’t gonna let this happen ever again. Shredder’s goin’ down, April. Whatever it takes.”

The room was silent for a minute, the buzz of the hospital activities barely audible outside of the door.

“The Shredder’s going down, alright,” April said at last, breaking the silence. “But you aren’t taking him down alone. We have the turtles now.” She reached out for Spike’s shoulder, hand clenching in the hospital gown.

Spike slowly turned her head, raising her gaze to meet April’s again. “We?”

“We.” April’s chin lifted, a determined blaze to her eyes. “We’ll take him down, Spike. Together. All of us.” She smiled, a fierce, brilliant expression, equal parts brave and joyous. “The Shredder doesn’t stand a chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! The adventure will continue at some point, in Revenges and Rat Traps! If you liked this story, please leave a comment and let me know what you think! It means a lot. I hope to 'see' you soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it and want to see more, please leave a comment and let me know what you thought, I really appreciate it and it really helps me write! I hope to see you in the next chapter.


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